


The Wicked Flame

by Mr_Skurleton



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drama, Dubious Morality, Eventual Smut, F/M, Guilt, Hellfire, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Pining, Skyrim Kink Meme, Surprise Kissing, Talos worship, Thalmor, nord/altmer pairing, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-19 04:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Skurleton/pseuds/Mr_Skurleton
Summary: He would never know what was running through her mind in that moment, with his hand caught in hers and the crowds milling around them. Whether the mead that flowed from dozens of tapped casks had gone to her head or if he was merely the victim of a cruel whim. In the end, it wouldn't matter.(Undergoing rewrites, chapters 1-3 have been changed)





	1. Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a SKM prompt and the song "Hellfire" from Disney's version of ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’. (Which; by the way, is now forever lodged in my brain along with 'The Court of Miracles’ thanks to youtube). This is just a bit of weird "wonder if I can pull that off adequately" if that makes any sense. This will probably only be eight chapters long so it should be completed soon-ish. (Fingers crossed.)
> 
> And a Big thank you to DragonsDeadAndDancing for helping to make this easier on your eyes. (A.k.a fixing errors.)
> 
> This is the more explicit version of this story. For the milder version please read it on ff net (same name). Chapters containing triggering subjects will come with a warning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/16/2018

Ondolemar had been taking in the air along Markarth’s outerwall, free as it was from the smoke and noise of the city behind him. The night had cut much from the realm of the visible, shapes contrasting only when they stood against the hazy halos of Secunda and Masser. A sort of familiar lethargy crept into his bones at the sight of that still and silent landscape. In the city of stone it was simple to give in, to become like the wall he stood on. 

 

“Markarth, city of stone indeed.” 

“Sir?” 

“Nothing Cirion, you are dismissed for the night, I wish to walk alone for a while.”

“Are you sure sir? If the locals were to…” Cirion was a young mer, family ties netting him a soft position in the peacetime lull. Shorter than Ondolemar with a rounded face and green eyes. Ondolemar pitied him, those imperfections would bar him from much in life among the Thalmor.

“Act on some ill advised notions?” Ondolemar’s smirk was lost in the darkness. “That would imply they were capable of something other than cowardice.” he settled against the waist high walls with folded arms and waved his guard back towards the keep. “It also implies you think anyone here is capable of gaining the upper hand on me. Don’t question my orders Cirion, you’ll live much longer that way.”

“Yes Justiciar. My apologies.” Cirion had the good sense to not linger, the faint gold and emerald of his armor disappearing down the stairs to leave Ondolemar in solitude.

 

It was a pity his thoughts were not likewise inclined. 

 

Could he not carve his likeness in one of the pillars near the Jarl’s throne? Would not a statue be just as effective in deterring muttered prayers to a false deity? Those gestures of hand and phrase made just beyond his gaze? Flippant or foul it stirred just beneath his feet, a hive of pests thriving and in need of stamping out. But perhaps it was useless, no headway to be made.

 

He shook from himself those foolish thoughts and turned his mind pointedly elsewhere. Out on the road a new light had come into view, traveling faster than the mounted guard did when they made their rounds, and followed swiftly by the sound of hooves echoing from cliff face. He watched it with the barest of interest. He kept his mind from more irritating thoughts with questions of who would be foolish enough to travel the Reach so late and why anyone would come to Markarth willingly. There was of course, no one to answer his silent musings and when the traveling party rode into full view they took no notice of a black robed figure secluded in shadow above them. 

 

There were two, atop sturdy horses whose flanks were hung with crimson banners bearing the likeness of dragons done in golden thread. They were hailed quickly by the guard, questions he couldn’t quite hear addressed to the one most obviously in charge. The noble didn’t bother to remove their helm as they answered, a raised hand motioning for the other; female and of nord stock if Ondolemar had to guess, to dismount as they did the same.

 

More words were exchanged, saddles and packs removed from tired mounts as both went through the motions of stabling their steads and then to his mild surprise, the guard unbarred the gates to let them pass. Perhaps it was how swiftly they'd cajoled their way inside, or perhaps it was his own curiosity jumping at the slightest rumor of interest. Whichever the case, Ondolemar made his way back to the stairwell, keeping a trained eye on their movements until they disappeared inside the inn.

 

His first urge was to follow, but he hadn’t so much as set foot inside the Silverblood inn. Such a sudden appearance was likely to cause something of a stir. Then again, his only other option was to return to his quarters and retire for the evening. He stepped forward.

 

The inside of the Silverblood inn was in a word, subdued. Those within were already well into their cups if the haphazard way they were strung among the bar stools was any indication. Though a distinctive pause ran through the place as his entrance drew attention. The patrons were quick to recover, though many remained hunched over their bottles, eyes visible from time to time over their shoulders.

 

Ondolemar did not bother with the innkeeper nor with learning the man’s name, instead selecting an unoccupied corner positioned to his liking.  When the serving girl slid up to his table he gave his order as stiffly as she had approached, he hadn’t come to exchange pleasantries with the staff. 

 

His object of interest sat silhouetted against the orange backdrop of the fireside, in discussion with her nordic companion. She had removed her helmet and hooked it over one knee so as to not crowd the table between them further. Its ale stained surface was already covered with plates, bottles and weapons. All hers judging by the empty loops and hooks on her armor. Axes mostly, Ondolemar felt his upper lip curl. ‘How predictable.’

 

The rest of her wasn’t far off from the expected either. Blond hair braided back from her face, a complexion just this side of snow, a build that suggested she could handle any weapon placed in her hands. The only thing of note he could see was that she was fair of face even for a nord. Pity he wasn’t closer, the general chatter keeping their words just out of reach even as their gestures spoke volumes.

 

The serving girl brought him his ordered bottle of alto wine and waited patiently for him to cough up the coins owed. Ondolemar slid it and ten extra septims across his own table towards her.

“You tavern girls have sharp ears,” he said with his hand still hovering over the gold. “Who is she?”

The server followed his line of sight only to shrug.

“I don’t know sir, not from around here I can tell you that.” 

Ondolemar resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “I can see that much. Do you at least know whether or not she is staying the night?”

That garnered him a different kind of look from the server.

“I’d assume so sir, unless you’re going to offer her your bed.” Sensing she’d crossed some invisible line the server swiped her coin into her apron and retreated back to the bar in the blink of an eye. A wise choice if ever she had made one. 

 

He stayed little more than an hour, nothing of note happening besides the brief appearance of another Altmer. By the time he rose to leave he wondered if his time would have been better spent working on his reports or sleeping. 

 

It wasn’t until two months later that he would learn the significance of that almost meeting. When new orders from Alinor arrived on his desk and he finally got an answer to his question. It turns out one can not always spot a legend with the naked eye.

  
  



	2. Linger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/17/2018

_He can walk the path blindfolded. Up from his bed, six steps to the armoire where his robes hang. Twenty four minutes to dress,  twenty six if armed. Hood up even when he plans to remain inside. It helps cut the distraction from his life, his duty. The landing just beyond the Jarl’s throne is forty steps for the wise. Shorter strides - longer life as all Altmer are taught. It is little more than muscle memory and perhaps that is how he misses it. Another presence in motion, a collision unavoidable as neither see it coming._

_She is coming from the throne room proper, armored with helmet under one arm and open scroll clasped in her right hand. They are a tangle of limbs within seconds, her apologies and his cutting words muffled by ruffled robes and twisted cloak. She stands first and before he has sorted out what has happened she’s grabbing his arm at the elbow, hauling him to his feet with another quick “Sorry, didn’t see you.” at the ready._

_Eyes of the sincerest blue crinkle at the edges as she watches him right his robes and dust himself off. She reclaims her fallen helmet and he snatches the scroll she was too busy reading to see where she was going._

_“Igmund has you chasing forsworn I see. Do you plan to bumble into them too?” His smirk is immediate and smug but she remains unshaken._

_“No, I hope to snark them into their graves, any pointers you’d care to offer?” She laughs and shakes her head. “We haven’t met but I’ve seen you around. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for proper introductions.” She snatches her bounty back from his hands and starts down the stairs. “Some other time Justiciar, some other time.”_

 

Ondolemar’s vision dissolved back to staring at the blank page waiting patiently to be stained by hovering quill tip.

“ _ **Status:** Undecided, Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval_

_**Description:** Nord female, past unknown, allegiances unknown. _

_**Background:** From what I have been able to discern via non direct contact, the so called Dragonborn is a capable warrior in at least some capacity and has quickly risen up the ranks within Markarth’s court, securing the title of thane quite recently. She remains a popular topic of discussion but as of yet none of the rumors concerning her ability or past can be confirmed beyond mere speculation. I may have to take steps outside of normal protocol to adequately answer those questions deemed most important by my superiors back in Alinor. I aim to begin tonight by making direct contact if by indirect means._”

Patting the ink dry with the careful ease of practice Ondolemar ran over the night’s objectives like a tune stuck at the back of his mind.  He had been given a simple enough task once it was stripped of its official yet pointless filler and vague phrasing. ‘Watch, Engage, Report’. Threat assessment on a single target was an unusual task for someone of his rank. But then the target in question did not fit into any definition of usual.

Ondolemar placed the leather bound report into the left drawer of his desk and locked it with a motion born of memory before pulling a few fresh pages in front of him. It was difficult to remain un-distracted by the implications carried in-between the lines of these new orders, leaving his quill poised over inkwell while his thoughts rotated in-between varying interpretations.

On the one hand it might be nothing more than a partitioning of the workload for optimum efficiency. His doubts manifested near immediately once the thought had been fully considered. Far more likely Elenwen had earned distrust from their colleagues in the south and they in turn passed the delicate task his way. What other reason could they have for asking him to watch the so called Dragonborn instead of Elenwen who was supposedly Skyrim’s ambassador?

It was merely a theory, still he’d have to keep an eye on things at the embassy from afar just to be sure. Any compromised agent didn’t stay an agent for long.

He set those thoughts aside for now and began a letter to his current target. Nothing too specific, he needed wiggle room in case she proved difficult. Luckily he was prepared for that and much more. Once finished he rose from his desk and gave the letter a quick wax seal. He washed his hands of their ink stains while he waited for the wax to set, finally setting out with purpose in his proud step.

Markarth in the last rays of day was a city in dismal shade. The mountains and wall were stalwart guards against sunlight and little else. Forsworn, Talos heathens and just about everything unsavory had found a way into the city but the beauty of dusk was always kept just out of sight. Only true sunset could offset  those long shadows cast by claustrophobic walls. Ondolemar stepped beyond the doors of Understone Keep and spared only a moment to the sights beyond that same wall before turning to his left and striding forward. His guards at his back.

On a path cut directly into the cliff side he wound his way towards Vlindrel Hall, home of Markarth’s newest thane and her brute of a housecarl. The walkway afforded him a view of the city below, dull people going about their insignificant days as they moved steadily towards the grave and inevitable obscurity. From that height they were insects, moving between the buildings built by elven hands. Dwemer hands but elven all the same. Even in the mist of the waterfall he was rapidly approaching, it was an insipid and ugly world this far north.

They reached the place where the path veered away from the rockface to allow the aforementioned waterfall to plummet unhindered. Its presence had soaked everything in sight, fostering moss in cracks and lowering visibility to a minimum. But the justiciar wasn’t made of moon sugar, a little drizzle wasn’t going to harm him whether it dripped from his hood and inside his collar or not.

Ondolemar stepped out on to that narrow bridge and almost headlong into another being. It was only her honed reflexes that saved them from once more toppling into each other. For Lorelei had swerved at the last second, throwing her weight to the right as she moved around him with what should have been practiced ease. It didn’t matter. It was all for nothing when water and worn stone were concerned.

The sole of her boot hit the raised edge of the bridge just as her off balanced weight carried her dangerously close to a long drop and abrupt stop. Lorelei’s heart and stomach tried to swap places as an ear splitting yelp rent the air. She flung her arms wide, her grasping hands looking for purchase and finding none.

Ondolemar winced, bracing himself  against a weight he’d been unprepared to catch. _'How much armor is she wearing to be this bloody heavy?'_  

The catch was not exactly graceful.

He'd caught her by the bend of her elbow and the belt that held her sword strapped to her hip. No conscious thought into where the best hold could be found, just gripping as tightly as he could with water slicked gloves.

Stunned that he actually managed it, Ondolemar pulled her back to solid footing. It took more effort than he cared to admit, too much time stooped over a desk and too little doing much else. He thanked the eight for lending him speed, chided himself for reacting at all. How much work could he have spared himself if he’d just let her fall? Such a short report it would have been.

"Are you alright Justiciar?" Cirion might have been a fine enough soldier, but the young Altmer could be remarkably slow at times and his generally silent companion equally as daft.

"Do you have any idea how idiotic that question even is? Do yourself a favor Cirion and be quiet," Ondolemar said hotly, it was bad enough to be stationed in Skyrim… but 'the help' he'd been assigned… Ondolemar shook his head.

With Cirion successfully cowed for the moment, Ondolemar turned his attention to the still tense dragonborn. "You are unharmed?"

Lorelei said nothing at first merely nodding to his question as she devoted most of her attention to the pursuit of gulping down air.  Eyes closed, fingers still curled in the fabric of his robes, he’d never seen her so pale.

"Much appreciated…"

"Justiciar Ondolemar," he offered, blinking bothersome water droplets from his eyelashes even as more of them dripped from the point of his flared hood and collected annoyingly on his trimmed beard.

"Lorelei, Lorelei the Curse-Bringer," she countered breathily, shifting her weight away from him but still hunched even as the adrenaline and tension trickled slowly away.

"I know."

"Ah yes well, suppose that’s not surprising." Her shaky laugh was small and nearly lost against the background of thundering waterfall. "Still, this wasn’t the proper introduction I had in mind." When she straightened and looked fully into his face, Ondolemar hastily inclined his head in agreement, not quite sure what else could be said. Fortunately she saved him the trouble of trying to make small-talk. "Speaking of that, Justiciar Ondolemar… I think I'm safe now so you can, you know... let me go."

“Are you sure?”

She cocked a brow, her mouth pursing ever so slightly, pausing the words on his readied tongue.

Perhaps it was the light. The dusk’s last glow casting her features in brilliant relief, turning Nordic white to perfect aldmeri gold. Perhaps it was the water. A soft sheen alighting on her high cheeks and becoming sun-cast jewels upon long eyelashes. He couldn’t quite name the feeling, its rising almost painful in his chest. As if Auri-El had descended just to lay his hand upon her face.

And perhaps it was so, but the god had seen fit to leave a trace of man’s unworthiness upon her face, where her lips should draw in perfect crimson, two crossing lines did interrupt that delicate curve. White upon her sun-kissed face and made with instrument cruel, they shattered the illusion of true divinity more than the lack of elven ancestry ever could. They pinned a single idea behind Ondolemar’s foremost thoughts, _‘If she could scar, she could bleed.’_

“Well, your record for staying on your feet has been rather poor as far as I’ve seen.” He let her go and folded his arms over his chest, a new plan forming behind his casual tone.

Lorelei bristled visibly and swiped at the locks of hair currently matted to her wet forehead.

“Well I was going to offer to buy you a drink for catching me but now I’m not sure I want to.”

“Then allow me to purchase one for you instead.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?”

“I do,”

He raised his hands in mock defeat. “I’m curious about you. Something I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

There was still suspicion hovering in her expression but Lorelei shrugged all the same.

“Sure, I could use something to calm my nerves. To the inn then?”

Ondolemar shook his head, flinging droplets in either direction.

“My quarters would be preferable. My stock of wine; though small, is far superior to the swill they serve in town.”  He watched her face darken and quickly added, “unless you prefer your spirits thinned down to the point of flavorless water?”

“Alright fine, let me change into something dry.”

 

* * *

 

 

It turned out something dry was simply code for removing her armor and donning a richly embroidered wool doublet. Her hosen were also of wool with buckskin shoes and belt. Ondolemar wasn’t terribly surprised that she’d dress for comfort rather than form. He also wasn’t surprised that she had both a blade and handaxe buckled to her waist.

Ondolemar himself had decided to forgo his usual uniform choosing instead to wear  leather breeches, linen shirt and an open robe in hues of green. It was unorthodox to be sure, but his reason was sound. If he wanted to probe her with questions it was best that his target be comfortable in his presence, and Thalmor robes were not crafted to inspire feelings of ease.

“So what are we drinking?” Lorelei asked as he held the door for her. A wicker basket swung from the crook of her arm, those blue eyes shining with curiosity as they roamed over the decor.

Not that there was much to be seen, Ondolemar believed that luxuries such as wall hangings and the like were distractions he could do without. His desk was orderly, shelves above it and to the right of the fireplace only housing books on military tactics or history. The chest at the foot of his bed held the rest of his possessions and the dresser his sparse wardrobe. He’d made Cirion move a wooden table and two chairs in earlier for Lorelei’s visit, the borrowed furniture arranged in front of the already blazing fire. The only glint of wealth on display was his shrine to Auri-El set on the mantle. The large sun shaped statue was solid gold, its base set with semi precious stones.

“Wine of course, though if that does not agree with your palette then I can send my guard to the kitchens for mead.”

“How charitable of you, wine is fine.”

“I aim to be a most memorable host.” He pulled the chair farthest from the door out for her. Lorelei hesitated a moment, glancing between he and the offered seat. “So may I assume you have brought pastries with you?”

Lorelei sat the basket down on the table and took the other chair.

“You’ve a sharp nose Justiciar.”

Unruffled by this minor slight, Ondolemar moved to a cabinet near the head of his bed.

“It sees a lot of use,” he stated quietly before returning with two goblets and a bottle of Tamika Vintage, not the best wine he’d ever tasted but he wasn’t going to break out his bottles of Shimmermist for a nord. Another trip saw plates and utensils brought out and then finally he poured her glass before filling his own. Lorelei had already made short work of setting out the spread she had brought with her. Fruit mostly, with a few tarts in between.

“You know you did not have to bring food with you, the Jarl’s pantry is always well stocked.”

“And give Anton more work? I’d never hear the end of it.” There was the faintest hint of laughter to her voice, lending it a softer and more honeyed tone. “Besides, I hear it’s considered ill mannered to arrive to a gathering empty handed. Even if it’s only a gathering of two.”

“How… practical of you.”

They fell silent for a moment, sipping politely and eyeing each other from over the brims of their glasses.

Lorelei broke the silence first, a fact that brought a smug feeling of satisfaction to Ondolemar’s warming insides.

“So where were you headed in such a hurry? I can’t imagine you take that way often. No one ever does, not even the guard.”

Ondolemar sat his glass down in front of him and leaned forward, folding his long fingers above it. “I was on my way to see you actually.”

“The same curiosity you spoke of earlier? If it was just to see how I lived I would have offered to host you instead.”

“No no, there is much that can be learned about a person by observing their living conditions but I wouldn’t have imposed myself on you in such a manner.”

“Funny way to phrase that.”

“So tell me Lorelei the Curse-Bringer, are you native born?” He wasn’t going to raise to her bait, whether she realized it was bait or not.

Lorelei leaned back in her chair and hooked her arm over the top of it lazily. “Not quite, Bruma actually. Mother had a bit of land and a title. When she passed, my family took our title and wealth Northward. Still own the land though.” There was a weight to her words Ondolemar could almost reach out and touch and he noted silently to himself about this possible chink in her defenses. “But you don’t really care about where I’m from do you?” She cocked her head to the side and gave him yet another smile he couldn’t decipher. “You want to know about the dragons.”

Ondolemar rolled his shoulder with practiced ease. “If that is what you wish to discuss. I’m merely making conversation.”

“Mhm,” she countered while popping a piece of snowberry tart in her mouth. “As you said a person’s room can tell you a thing or two.” She gestured to the bare walls and tidy desk behind him. “This is not the room of someone who merely makes conversation.”

He laughed, pleasantly surprised. “You have nice eyes.” his chuckle died in his throat. He’d meant to say ‘good’ not ‘nice’.

“Thank you, so what would you like to know?” If  Lorelei thought his word choice odd, she didn’t show it, happily draining her glass and holding it out to him to be refilled.

 

 

 

* * *

 

He had been lingering on the covered path that jutted off from the steps leading to the temple of Dibella, enjoying a reprieve and well deserved glass of alto wine. His subordinates were off running errands, collecting his correspondence and likely lollygagging but at that moment he couldn't be bothered to be annoyed at them. The wine in his hands was heady and aged to perfection, the aroma of which brought an unbidden sigh to his lips as he swirled the scarlet liquid and watched the light of the brazier glimmer along its smooth surface.

Instances such as this were a rarity for the Justiciar, where no one was demanding something from him or wasting his time with their stupidity. With the taste of grape on his tongue and alcohol warming his blood he could almost forget how much he detested the city beneath him.

Almost.

Leaning his robed elbows against the carved masonry Ondolemar watched the figures scurrying below. The jewelry makers leading their little girl by the hand, the miners with the rhythm of their work pounded out to the tempo of the foreman's tapping foot, the Markarth guard roving about in lazy and meaningless circles. All of it so far below, so minuscule and mindless. His shoulders slumped, his mood souring by each unwelcome thought and realization.

Ondolemar averted his eyes elsewhere, searching for something… anything that wasn't made of miserable grey stone or a reminder of how much he loathed this country. They landed after a time on the open sided hovel that served as the city's smithy. He had no interest in Ghorza or her incompetent assistant, neither were foolish enough to worship the false god and further still, they had the good sense to stay out of his way. But it was not they who had captured his attention, not they who stood just under the lip of the slanted roof at the corner closest to him.

He couldn't tell what Lorelei was looking at as she stood there in full armor, staring upwards with her hand shielding her eyes.

 _'Perhaps it is nothing,'_  he reasoned while pouring himself another glass. After all the skies were clear for once, and regardless of how much he detested Skyrim its sky was everything its landscape lacked. But her pose was angled and intent, as though she were looking at something rather than simply into the distance. A theory that was soon confirmed when she raised her other hand and gave a cheerful wave… in his direction.

His first impulse was to ignore it, but the more he did so the more adamant her waving became. Seeing Lorelei practically bounce enthusiastically waving in such a vigorous show made some unrecognized feeling prickle his stomach and flush just under his skin. And when he could take no more and raised his glass in acknowledgement; if only to make her cease such a display he reasoned, he was rewarded with a wide, if barely visible from that distance, smile.

He couldn't have recounted if asked, how long that moment lasted. For it seemed to both idle and yet vanish in the same instant. She had pivoted on a heel and walked from sight, likely back to whatever business she'd had with the blacksmith in the first place. No hint of what the last few moments had meant. No sign of what she had wanted besides perhaps his attention. Just a wave, a smile and then nothing.

* * *

 

 

“I’ll admit, I find it curious that a noble would take such an interest in something so menial.” He was leaning against one of the supports of the city’s smithy. Above his head, fresh thatch provided a note of hay in an otherwise unpleasant mixture of hot metal and burning oil. Markarth’s smithy was by no means his normal haunt. But for his current company he could make an exception. Or several it seemed, considering he'd been stopping by every time he noticed Lorelei tending her armor. It might have become something of a habit.

“What a discouraging thing to say. I prefer to be thought of as useful rather than noble. And in my line of work, useful has little to do with titles and much to do with maintaining my tools of the trade.”

“I wasn’t aware dragon hunting was considered a trade.”

“It might as well be,” she gestured towards the dented breastplate on his left. “Be a dear and toss me that will you?”

He did no such thing, handing it to her instead even if it meant taking a few extra steps.

“Couldn’t you simply refuse? Let Ulfric put his sword where his jowls are and protect _his_ people himself?”

“Were I so lucky that both he and the Empire be gracious enough to turn their attention to Skyrim’s greater problem and cease for a moment their pointed and bloody bickering.” Her frustration never made it to her words, being redirected down into her hand and by extension the hammer held there. “Still, let me ask you this, if Alinor was under threat would you wait for others to raise their arms? Knowing that yours was stronger? Better equipped?”

“The Leaders of Alinor would not waste their breath defending a false god…” His immediate response was given without forethought and so he followed it a moment later with, “but you make your point well enough. I’ve done much in the name of my people and their homeland. In that, I suppose we have common ground, our duties do not give us much time for leisure.”

“You make it sound as if that were the only commonality we share.”  She gave him one of those smiles, small and pulled only to one side, intimate as a whisper and as cheerful as a robin in spring. “But say no more on that, lest we ruin your reputation as Markarth’s most sour citizen.”

A deep frown was a hard mask to maintain but he managed somehow, alleviating the need to return that earnest smile with a quirk of his brow instead.

“I jest Ondolemar, and if you’ve a moment more of time perhaps you could give me a hand with this breastplate? I need to check the fitting now that it’s been reshaped.”

“I suppose I could spare a few,” he feigned a resigned sigh as he removed and pocketed his gloves. “But you’ll owe me a few in return.”

 

And so it went for a month or so. He'd find an excuse to be in her path, she'd agree to walk with him a bit. She would dismiss her brute of a housecarl, he would give his guards some meaningless errand to run. She'd give a colorful account of where she'd been off to, he'd find just the right level of sarcasm or dry wit to leave her chuckling. Each time she joined him, he'd find a longer route to walk until eventually he just started asking her if she'd join him for a glass. She didn't always take him up on the offer but the nights when she did were pleasant ones, sometimes bringing a bottle of some wild vintage she'd found in her travels. Though there was talk amidst the common folk, she didn't seem to mind and Ondolemar certainly didn't care. There was nothing to their rumors and he wasn't about to give up the one thing about the city that he was fond of over some paltry speculation. Of course... had he known what was to come, he might have reconsidered.

* * *

 


	3. The Kiss That Doomed the World

 

 

"Sir, the festival is today. Do you still plan to attend?" Cirion, who had learned to hedge his words very carefully over the last few months, was standing in the doorway to Ondolemar's quarters. Helmet under one arm, the fingers of his other hand worrying back and forth over its polished crest, he was nothing short of infuriating. Ondolemar had often questioned if both of Cirion’s parents had been true Altmer on account of his less than on par features… and the mer’s ever astounding ability to irritate him, but had generally dismissed the question as being a waste of speculation.

"Why must every word you utter be forged of stupidity?  As the Justiciar for this city, it is my duty to oversee all religious rites and festivals.  Should I be concerned that such obvious things escape you?" He had paused his reading the moment of Cirion’s interruption. But seeing as the younger mer was just going to blather rehashed questions he’d heard a dozen times already, Ondolemar felt his gaze drifting back to the book in his lap. "So is there a reason for this intrusion or did you plan to stand in the doorway till dusk?"

"Hm? oh right, the Jarl has asked to see you… something about making sure that nothing in the prayers would be seen as a violation."

Ondolemar sat his book aside and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I swear the people of this wretched country…" His hand fell away and with a sigh he rose to his feet. "It never ceases to amaze me… the sheer number... of layers of annoyance... is staggering." With a few moments spared to smooth the wrinkles out of the front of his robes, Ondolemar pushed his way past Cirion and headed for the mournful throne.

 

Two hours spent going over each and every word and gesture was in an understatement, tedious. Ondolemar half suspected the Jarl had dragged the process out as long as possible just to irk him, testing just how thin his patience could be stretched before it finally snapped. His patience had been born more of spite than control, but he’d managed and that was what mattered.

 

What he needed now was fresh air. Or at least as fresh as he could manage without leaving the city walls. Something to scrub the harshness of burnt pitch and the smell of unwashed nord from his lungs was what he wanted. But as he made for the keep’s doors, a bulk armored hand brought that to a swift halt.

 

"What is it now Thongvor? If you hadn't noticed I am in a hurry today and do not have time to dally with the likes of you." His arms came up across his chest reflexively, his upper lip curling into something that was half snarl, half cold smirk.

 

The Nord in front of him wore a look that could have curdled milk, though Ondolemar was left to wonder how much of that was due to whatever was bothering the man or the fact that Thongvor was incredibly unblessed when it came to physical appearance. Wrinkled, dirt smudged and sprouting hair seemingly everywhere but on his balding head, he certainly wasn't someone Ondolemar wanted to have to look at much less talk to.

 

"You know damn well what it is you elf bastard! It is one thing to put up with you being in my city! But now I am being denied the right to pay respects to my ancestors in the Hall of the Dead?" There was a fine spray of spittle that punctuated every mildly slurred word Thongvor slung in his direction, his volume blustering and bolstered by liquid courage. The smell of which was particularly repugnant. " I won't stand for it!"

 

"I haven't the foggiest idea what it is you are blathering about and frankly I do not care what it is either. As I said I do not have time for this and you are in my way." Ondolemar’s words hit their mark, leading to him having to wipe more flecks of spittle from his face as Thongvor practically foamed at the mouth.

But words were all the weapon he would draw for now, the Sliverbloods had too much weight in the city to openly tangle with even the stupidest of their members. At least not without the right provocation.

 

"Yeh? Well, you best make time, elf. I knows it was you what gave that damned priest orders to lock the Hall of the Dead. Where do you get off throwing your weight around my city, eh?"

 

Before Ondolemar could counter that ludicrous accusation and unleash the full bite of his scathing wit and sharp tongue on the simpleton who dared to make such a claim, Thongvor did something that was most unwise.

He had grabbed the front of Ondolemar's robes.

 

Very, very slowly, Ondolemar glanced down to the hairy fist clutching his, cleaned just the night before, robes. Noting each speck of filth that was now marring clasps he'd had Cirion polish for some stupid remark the younger mer had uttered. The scrape of swords being unsheathed was immediate, his guards turning from idle dolts to defensive hounds in the time it took to strike a match. Ondolemar raised his hand and they lowered theirs, the passageway too narrow for them to do much of anything and this matter being one he intended to crush on his own.

 

"If you would like to keep your hand, Thongvor, I suggest you lower it.” His voice was barely more than a low rumble, the beginning of an avalanche or the deep roll of the earth before it cracks open beneath your feet.  “Just because your family's activities are tolerated for now, does not mean that I will tolerate you for much longer if you persist."

 

The crackle of the torches could be heard in the skin crawling silence that spread within the pause then.

 

"I had nothing to do with the closing of the Hall of the Dead. However, even if I had given that order, you do not have the authority to question it. You do not have authority to question anything that I do. Do I make myself clear?"

 

The Nord's face turned from an ugly shade of tomato red to an even less pleasing shade of purple, his lips twisting and quivering as they tried to form too many words at once. But Ondolemar would never get to know what Thongvor was about to scream at him.

 

"Let him go Thongvor and move it, your arse is taking up the whole damn hallway."

 

Ondolemar's gaze, narrowed as it was, moved swiftly to this new entity and his expression softened a hair’s breadth. He almost didn't recognize her at first, the thick floor length cloak bundled around her a far cry from the green and tan armor he'd grown used to seeing, but the hair, eyes and voice were unmistakable. Thongvor cast one look over his shoulder and hunched his shoulders before begrudgingly letting go of Ondolemar's robes. He might have been drunk enough to pick a fight with a Thalmor agent but there wasn't enough ale in all of skyrim that could convince him to get into a shouting match with the dragonborn.

 

Of course that admission didn't stop Thongvor from muttering something insulting and vulgar as he brushed past her. Lorelei gave as good as she got, the gesture she made anything but polite. With Thongvor dealt with, she turned her attention to Ondolemar with one of her usual unconscious, half smiles.

 

"You can't take him serious you know, everything he says is one half spit and one half hot air." Her tone was cheerful and edged with a whisper of excitement as she closed the distance between them and then stood on her toes to give a wave to the two behind him. She might have been jovial but Ondolemar was not as amused.

 

"I am aware," he muttered crossing his arms over his chest, "I also don't need assistance when it comes to dealing with such brutes."

 

"Now now, no need to huff at me," she laughed, refusing to let his sour mood spoil her own. "Besides who said I was helping you eh? Who's to say I wasn't helping save a fellow Nord from making a fatal mistake hm? Oh don't feign surprise, I may be no mage but I know the start of a spark spell when I see one. See enough of them whizz past your nose and you begin to pick up on the subtleties." She waved the explanation off with a hand fluffing the air as the other held the cloak she wore closed tight. Not wishing to spend the next hour or so arguing with her on all the reasons why he didn't believe her, Ondolemar instead focused his attention elsewhere.

 

"Is it cold enough out there to warrant that?" he asked, gesturing towards the fur lined cloak. Early spring this far north was always bitterly cold and bordering on freezing even in the Reach, but he'd never seen Lorelei bundled up like that. He'd half believed the woman was immune to the dismal cold entirely, rather than simply resistant like her kin.

 

"Hm? Oh this? Nah it's pretty warm out right now. But Hamal said she'd string me up by the ears if I let anyone see the costumes for tonight before the performance." She shrugged, though most of the gesture was lost under the heavy fabric, before flashing him a grin. "Although I am tempted to anyway, even if it might earn me ears as pointed at yours. Anyway I have to talk to Calcelmo about something right quick before all the fun starts, so I'll see you at the festival." She gave his shoulder a friendly pat before nudging her way between his guards and heading off, once more leaving him with more questions than she'd ever give him answers for. It was something Ondolemar had grown accustomed to and he gave her a wave in return before going his own way.

 

The streets of Markarth were dressed for the occasion and teeming with people from all over the hold. It made the stones less ugly but the walk from Understone Keep to the platform he was to be seated at slow going to say the least. Stands, piled high with honeyed breads and fruit filled tarts, ate up space on paths that had been narrow to begin with.  Enthusiastic merrymakers, already partially sloshed, bumbled into one another to the tune of torrents of shrill laughter. All in all it was a tad too unrefined for Ondolemar's tastes. Even if the painted lanterns strung above it all vastly improved the normally dreary city, it was nothing compared to the festivals he'd known as a child back in Summerset.

 

As soon as Ondolemar, Igmund, Igmund's housecarl Faleen and his steward Raerek, were seated upon the flower strewn platform, Dibella's priestess Hamal began the rites, silencing the crowd with the roar of a gold edged horn.

 

"People of Markarth! Children of Nirn and blessed by our matron of beauty and passion!" For her age Hamal had an impressive set of lungs all things considered, her voice carrying with ease to all gathered around her. "Tonight we honor the Goddess of Beauty, she who brings her blessings of grace with generous arms and who inspires the artist to make the world a more wondrous place to live." There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd as she went on. "Tonight we will drink and we will feast! We will dance and we will love! So open your minds! Open your hearts! And let the spirit of our matron fill you!"

 

From there Hamal led a prayer to all eight divines, pausing only briefly where Talos' name would have normally been while Ondolemar's smoldering gaze bored uncomfortably into her back. After that there was a short ceremony relating to flowers or something that barely maintained Ondolemar's attention, being of purely nordic tradition and therefore unworthy of his notice. And finally a ritual performance by those deemed beautiful enough to perform Dibella's sacred dance…

 

Which seemed to translate as an excuse to get every young woman in the hold to don what could hardly be called clothing and have them twirl around like frolicking nymphs. Something which the crowds seemed to appreciate as each dancer threw off their thick cloaks one by one. Ondolemar could care less about a bunch of pale human females jumping around to barbaric music and spent those first few moments of the performance looking for a specific face among the crowd. But the woman he was looking for wasn't among those watching, much to his bemusement and then immediate shock as a stir of whistles from the crowd brought his gaze back to the dance and the figure that had garnered such a reaction.

 

Not once before then had Ondolemar considered the dragonborn to be graceful. True she was lithe; well as lithe as a non-mer could be, he'd grant her that much. But with the bulk of her armor generally obscuring the contours of her body from sight he'd never had quite the unimpeded view he had now. The silk and sheer gauze she wore acted less like clothing and more as if they were creatures spun from color and smoke. They floated languidly when she stood still and streamed in her wake when she moved. On the other dancers the same costume looked vulgar and lewd but on her it was perfection in motion. It wrapped around her lovingly, draped and accentuating as it revealed just enough to keep his gaze fixed to her swaying form and yet concealed enough to leave him wanting. She was a chimera of soft curves and taut muscle, those cobalt blue eyes sparkling with drink and happiness in ways he'd never seen before.

 

An errant thought drifted over his mind's eye, the urge to secret her away to his quarters and tenderly untie each and every one of the shawls from her so that the only things embracing her were his impassioned arms. Far from the streets with their streaming banners and carousing crowds that stood between himself and the woman he couldn't take his eyes off of. Far from the pounding drums and the slightly out of time lutes, far far away from all of it.

 

Of course the moment he realized what he was imagining he balked at the strength and sordidness of the urge. How could he even consider such licentious acts with a Nord? It was unheard of, unthinkable and strictly immoral.

 

 _'It must be the festival,'_ his reason hastened, _'yes, the spirit of Dibella they're calling up must be contagious or something. She is after all something of a warm blooded goddess.'_ Even if that explanation sounded flimsy at first the alternative was far too ridiculous for him to consider and far more fatal a sickness to be stricken by.

 

The dance ended with a crescendo of music and chanting before the dancers bowed to the calls of the crowd. Blooms of all kinds were thrown until it seemed as if it were raining petals down on them. And they, now filled with the spirit of their goddess, invited the crowd to join them until all who were present had felt that divine passion in their chest.

 

To his right Igmund nudged him with an elbow before gesturing outward with a hand.

 

"So what do you think? Does that adhere to the rules enough for you?"

 

"It will do I suppose," Ondolemar replied tersely, not quite sure what it was with Nords and their need to invade his personal space. "I take it the ceremony part is over then?"

 

"Aye, the rest of the night is just celebration and revelry."

 

"Then I will take my leave…"

 

"So soon? Not going to enjoy yourself even a jot?"

 

"No, this is not exactly what I would consider enjoyable. Now if you will excuse me." Ondolemar stood before Igmund had a chance to object, heading down off the platform with decidedly un-celebratory steps.

 

The cavorting swell of people was daunting to say the least, and his skin crawled each time someone's body collided carelessly with his own. It was bad enough they were touching him, far worse that they were impeding his exit and his soldiers were nowhere in sight. Probably for the best as the face Cirion had made when the dancing began had been anything but fitting of a fellow Altmer. As Ondolemar managed to push through a throng of yet more drunks a tug on his hand spun him in place, bringing him face to face with a very flushed and smiling Lorelei.

 

He would never know what was running through her mind in that moment, with his hand caught in hers and the crowds milling around them. Whether the mead that flowed from dozens of tapped casks had gone to her head or if he was merely the victim of a cruel whim. In the end, it didn’t matter.

 

 _'She tastes like honey and lavender,'_ the small voice in the back of his skull observed as the rest of his thoughts were utterly obliterated. He had no idea what was happening, or better yet, why it was happening. He’d felt her body pressed along his own, laughing lips closing over his own, night chilled hands clasping over his face in tenderness.

 

His eyes, which had gone wide at first, closed seemingly of their own accord. And before he even realized it, his hands were splayed over the gracious curve of her hips. There was warmth there, radiating through scrunched silk that tangled between his fingers. Warmth he could feel from her skin, warmth rushing to his chest and spreading from his lips. She seemed to take that as an invitation because she parted his lips further with a pink tongue that brought shivers unbidden.

 

It was over in seconds, the crowds pushing them apart as suddenly as it had brought them together and swallowing her back into their midst with only the trill of her laughter hanging in the space between.

 


	4. A Tongue Held

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 11/18/2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for on the nose dream sequences and grumpy nords?!? 
> 
> I'm not even sorry.

 

 

The fireplace roared in front of him but did nothing to soothe. Seated within the depths of his room, no light beyond the fire he watched and no company beyond the press of his own thoughts, Ondolemar let the scene play through his mind once more. 

 

The light of a dozen paper lanterns dances in the fiery gold of her hair as the night's breath plays through it. The fabric strung across her hips shifts in a swirl of color that catches the eye and draws it in. How soft her skin looks as she slides her hand up along the side of her thigh, pulling skirts and ribbons ever upwards before spinning away with a coy smirk. 

Her hands are on his face, gentle but needy. He is gripping her hips, trying to pull her closer. Too much fabric in the way, too many people watching. She'd thrown caution to the wind and it might cost him everything. He bit into his lower lip and closed his eyes. He could still taste her on his tongue. How much sweeter would her lips be if tasted in secret? Would she wear such a coy smile if he were to pull her close in some secluded hallway or would she lean against the stone wall and beckon him with a delicate hand and whisper for him to stray closer?

“Closer.” Six little letters left the insurmountable task of expressing a desire that had no business being put to words. For how could this one word, this silken whisper, trace the soft curve of shoulders the way a delicate touch would? Was it capable of lingering with the force of a feather and the promise of a storm seconds from breaking? Could inflection strike faster than the eye could see, could it capture frantic wrists the way eager fingers wished to and spill warmth from lips brushing along a frantic pulse? To feel her shiver from more than just the chill of the night. To kiss from parted lips and down along a pale and perfect throat. To succumb to the ache and finally to indulge in pleasure beyond measure... 

Would she play the demure maiden?

Would he playfully untie the ribbons at her waist only to wind them teasingly around her wrists? How would she look he wondered, tied, teased and taken. Amid warm furs, her skin waiting for the touch of his hand. He wanted to see the tremor run through every little nerve. He wanted to see the play of anticipation across features perfectly sculpted, needed to taste the soul of this other being through lips, teeth and unspoken wants. He wanted to wrap all that there was tightly in his hands,  to slide his fingertips along tense coils before offering them sweet release.

 Would she beg for him?

Would he kneel for her?

 

Ondolemar awoke with a start. Still seated in the chair he'd dozed off in the night before in front of a now cold hearth. He rubbed at his eyes with a clammy and shaking palm, trying to wipe some half remembered nightmare from his mind. What was he doing thinking of _her_ in that way? A Nord no less, as if he would ever submit to one of the lesser races in such a way. 

' _Then again... it's not my fault. I'm not the one who invaded her space, who..._ ' He killed the thought before it could conjure up the memory of the night before once again. Though that didn't stop a warmth from spreading through his chest all the same. He didn't want to give the feeling a name. Naming it would mean acknowledging it and that could be dangerous. It was one thing to rebuff rumor from the townsfolk when they were baseless. But if anyone were to learn of some truth to it all? If that information were to make it back to Alinor? How far would his excuse of _unconventional means of observation_ get him? ' _What was she even thinking last night?'_

He rose stiffly from his chair and walked to his wash basin. The cold wet slap of water was sobering but it did not slow his thoughts. _'Why then? Why at all?'_ Was Lorelei harboring feelings for him he'd simply not noticed? He supposed it was possible. After all, she seldom turned down his company and always with a viable excuse when she did. He'd assumed it was merely a want for decent conversation and vintage that drove her but now he wasn't so sure. 

If last night had been Lorelei's way of making her intentions know to him then he couldn't think of a worse time for it. Dozens of people watching, near everyone in the hold there. Then again, near every face he'd seen had been ruddy with alcohol. How many from last night would even remember what they themselves had done let alone something they may or may not have seen? 

Still, it would be a foolish thing to pursue. He was an agent of the Dominion, regardless of how much he enjoyed her company he would have to set the matter straight. 

He dried his face on a clean cloth and then grimaced when he saw the rumpled state of his robes. If he was going to go see Lorelei, he'd have to look more presentable than this. A quick change saw his usual robes exchanged for a simple green tunic and doeskin breeches. Someone he had once served with had suggested the color suited his complexion, complimenting the color of his eyes. He didn't know if that was true but it certainly couldn't hurt. 

 

Cirion and his fellow guard were both passed out in the hallway and Ondolemar caught the distinct whiff of wine as he gingerly stepped around them. Any other day his boot would have found their backsides. But not today, he couldn't have them along for the visit he was about to make and he just didn't have time to make up some excuse for why they weren't to accompany him.

The sun was just peeking over the walls as he exited the keep, which implied that he had overslept. But given the hush that hung in the air, it seemed as if he was the only being actually awake. Sure there were still guards leaning along rail or wall, but as he swept past them he could have swore he heard each one of them snoring behind their helmets. They weren't the only ones who hadn't managed to make it back to their beds either, as most of the streets were littered with empty bottles, torn streamers and slumbering people laying in all manner of awkward positions. Ondolemar's lips twitched from a look of contempt to a snide smirk when he noted that some of them where going to wake up next to people who were certainly not their wives or husbands. He was also relieved to see that Lorelei was not among them either as he hurried along.

He'd taken the long way around up to Vlindrel Hall, and he was a tad winded once he started knocking on Lorelei's front door. At first there was no answer, so he pounded a little louder and was finally rewarded with the sound of multiple locks and bolts being slid back. But it was not Lorelei's cheerful face that greeted the Altmer, rather a very grumpy looking and hungover Argis.

"Do you have any idea of what time it is elf? What do you want?"

"I'm here to speak with your mistress and that is all you need to know. Now go and fetch her at once." Ondolemar was in no mood to waste time with niceties, especially when he hadn't been offered any. Argis on the other hand, was in no mood to take orders, especially from an elf. With his arms coming up to rest imposingly over his chest, Argis went from being simply displeased to downright defiant. Using his body as something like a breathing blockade, he stared down his nose at Ondolemar despite being the shorter of the two.

"And what are you going to do if I refuse and tell you exactly where you can stuff those demands of yours, hm?"

"Step out here and you may just find out…" Ondolemar countered, he might have been without his guards and robes but he'd be damned if he'd back down from someone so obviously beneath him. "Of course, you'll only live long enough to regret it." his hand slid to where his dagger should have been, only to find empty air in its place.

"Those are some bold words coming from someone who is unarmed," Argis growled, looking like he was on the verge of taking that first step outside of the door and the air began to tense between them.

"You're a bigger fool than I first thought if you think for even a moment that I am truly unarmed."

"Argis what is it? Who's at the door?" Lorelei's voice carried down the hall just before her face peeked bleary eyed around the bulk of her housecarl. When she saw who it was her expression turned to one of bemusement and she fell silent.

"I know it is impolite to just drop by unannounced, but um…" Ondolemar tried to explain as quickly as his suddenly lead tongue would allow. "But there were some things I wished to discuss with you."

Lorelei's drowsy eyes narrowed at that, her thin brows drawing together and for a moment Ondolemar found it very difficult to breathe. But her face soon relaxed and a smile slid into place as she stepped around Argis much to the Nord's objection. Lorelei simply waved him off and Ondolemar was more than pleased to see him retreat further into the house. Once alone, Lorelei leaned her shoulder against the door frame while stifling a yawn. It was clear she'd just be roused from her bed and that she hadn't bothered to get fully dressed before seeing what the commotion was about. She was wearing a pair of doeskin leggings, a man's over-sized undershirt and nothing else… which was very distracting as Ondolemar tried to keep his gaze on her face and not the cut of her shirt's collar. He had, after all, come to straighten her out, not to stare at her feminine attributes.

"Ondolemar… it's good to see you and all but, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"It is at least mid morning," he answered even though the question had been somewhat rhetorical. "Forgive me I didn't know you were prone to rising later in the day."

Lorelei leaned slowly forward and for a split second Ondolemar thought she was going for a repeat of the night before, causing him to take a unconscious step backwards. However she turned her head and instead squinted at the sun.

"I don't… well not normally," she said with a shrug as she straightened once more. "Anyway, you said there was something you wanted to talk about, yeh?"

"Uh yes I wanted to…" It was at that moment that his stomach interrupted, reminding him that, not only had he skipped breakfast in his rush that morning but that he also hadn't really eaten anything the night before.

"Well whatever it is, we can talk about it inside. Preferably over some sweet rolls or something, sound fair enough?" She held the door open for him and he couldn't bring himself to refuse.

Ondolemar had never actually seen the inside of Vlindrel Hall, and as Lorelei led him through the main entranceway and into the house proper, his eyes roamed endlessly. It was fairly large as far as homes in Markarth went, with a long dining table in the center of the main space and a few doors leading to all the other rooms. To his right was a fireplace with a low burning fire and a couple of smaller tables complete with chairs to either side. Straight ahead was a closed door which Argis was leaning against and to the left of that some shelving and counters with an open door leading into what he guessed was a trophy room. Beyond that seemed to be the kitchen and a couple of bookshelves forming a quaint reading nook. Every bit of available shelving was piled high with all manner of strange things, and although it was all quite tidy, it still looked incredibly cluttered.

Lorelei gestured for him to make himself at home and walked towards the closed doors Argis was guarding like a suspicious hound. Argis said something under his breath when she approached which she waved off before asking him to head down to the inn to see if she had any letters waiting. Reluctant at first, and Ondolemar could feel eyes burning into his back as the mer moved casually around the room. But with a bit of prodding from Lorelei, Argis begrudgingly left the two alone, though he made sure to slam the door extra hard as he left.

"Don't mind Argis, he's not much of a morning man if you catch my drift."

Ondolemar inclined his head to signal that he did, even though he knew that was not the reason the Nord was acting riled.

"Anyway, feel free to look around while I change into something more appropriate, and then we can eat and talk." She disappeared behind the closed doors then and Ondolemar heard a lock click into place immediately afterwards. A gesture which he thought was completely uncalled for. He wasn't one of the boorish brutes she normally had to deal with, he would never be so crass or perverse as to try and watch her change clothing. Feeling decidedly defensive, Ondolemar focused on exploring his surroundings and not on Lorelei's implied lack of trust in him.

As was to be expected, he found himself drawn to what he'd mistakenly thought was the trophy room. In reality it was meant to be used for enchanting, but the rune inscribed table used for that kind of craft looked like it had never been touched. Instead, it had been repurposed for Lorelei’s endless supply of weapons. They hung from the walls on racks so crowded together that it was near impossible to see the stonework that they were affixed to. And the assortment of weapons hanging from them had his brow climbing higher and higher. Staves made from materials he didn't even recognize, swords and daggers with gleaming edges, maces and hammers that must have weighed as much as a medium sized child, all strapped and stacked in their proper places.

He looked them over one by one until his gaze settled on a staff carved in the shape of a rose. It was a curious looking piece, the wood stained to mimic the colors of petal, stem and thorn. Without a thought he ran a finger along one of the carefully shaped petals at its top, admiring the craftsmanship and he was about to pick it up to further admire it when Lorelei's hand quickly covered his.

"Best not to meddle with that one, I'd rather not have a scamp or something worse running round my house if you don't mind." Noting his bewildered expression she continued. "That's Sanguine's Rose, if you aren't careful while handling it… well let's just say it can make quite the mess." She was wearing her armor again, with the exception of the gauntlets which she had in her free hand.

"I'm not a novice Lorelei, I know how to handle things with the proper care." The implication that she thought he would be careless with her things stung somewhat and his expression showed it, even though it was hard to do so when she was so terribly close to him.

"I don't doubt that you do, but still, when it comes to that thing I'd rather not tempt the Fates."

Ondolemar let his hand fall away from the staff, but not before accidentally snagging his thumb on one of the thorns. Hissing at the sudden pain, he stuck the injured digit in his mouth instinctively, sucking on it in order to stop the bleeding. Admittedly it was not the most stoic of reactions, but for what amounted to a splinter jab, it had stung far more than it ought have.

"See what I mean? Damn thing is naught but trouble." To add insult to injury, Lorelei had grabbed his pricked hand like an admonishing nanny, and was now looking at the tiny puncture as it welled liquid red.

"If you don't like it then why do you keep it?" Ondolemar snapped. The question he really wanted to ask was what she was doing with a daedric artifact in the first place. However he suspected he didn't really want to know the answer to that one. Lorelei cast one look at the offending artifact and shook her head vehemently.

"After what I went through to get it? It's going to stay right there until the day I die." She let go of his hand now that she was sure he would survive the minuscule prick. "Most of the things in here I don't ever intend to let see the light of day. Like that one," she said pointing to another staff. It was wrapped in brown leather cord with what looked liked two avian skulls crowned by hawk feathers. "I got that one after helping a hagraven retake her tower from her sister. And that one," turning towards a ebony katana with a wicked edge. "Actually enjoys stealing life from those it slays."

"Are you implying you keep things just so others will not use them?"

"That's not it, but it doesn't really matter. Let's just eat and forget about it alright?" She didn't give him a chance to argue, walking away with an attitude that said only one thing, ' _drop the subject.'_ Which he did, following her towards the table and taking a seat opposite her only after she had seated herself.

The table was set with an assortment of food, mostly slices of candied fruits and baked pastries with a pitcher of spring water to round off the spread. They ate in refined silence, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating into something that was simply awkward. Ondolemar wanted to break it, but after being snapped at earlier, and feeling like the morning had gotten off to an already rotten start, he didn't dare. The last thing he needed was to make a bigger mess of things by bringing up the subject that had brought him here in the first place. Fortunately, Lorelei wasn't the type to take a meal in a foul mood, or silence either for that matter.

"So did you enjoy the festival at least?" she asked before popping another bit of sugar covered fruit in her mouth. Of course Ondolemar wished she'd picked any other subject to discuss… having hoped he could ease into that one gradually and with luck reach some type of mutual understanding without wounding anyone's feelings in the process.

"It was rather… illuminating you could say," he answered tentatively, fidgeting with his napkin as he suddenly needed something for his hands to do.

"Kinda curious way to put it, but yes, I guess it was. Though I noticed you left pretty early on, were you not feeling well or something?"

 _'Or ‘something’ is right, and you know exactly what that something was too.'_ his thoughts quipped. Outloud his wording was a tad more subtle. " No I simply had a lot on my mind that I needed to think over is all."

"Oh… I see. Well that's a pity, you missed out on a lot of revelry."

"That's alright, I had more than enough before I left."

"Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself then. Which reminds me… I've meant to tell you something last night but never got the chance." Her tone was so utterly casual and yet somehow managed to seem coy at the same time. Ondolemar could scarcely breathe as he waited for that metaphorical hammer to fall, wondering if he even had the strength of will to save himself from its blow. "I know this may come as a surprise and maybe I'm ... but…" She, was struggling to find the words and he, was struggling to hear her over the sound of his own thudding heart. " but, um, I wanted to let you know I am really …"

The sound of the door slamming open followed by Argis' heavy footfalls cut the conversation short as surely as a headsman's ax. Lorelei fell silent immediately at the sight of him, and it was as if that conversation had never happened, what ever she'd been on the verge of saying dying on her lips. Unaware that he was interrupting... or perhaps knowing and simply not caring... Argis walked over to the table and set a pile of letters down neatly in front of her. After which he moved to hover behind her chair so that he could glare at Ondolemar without his thane seeing him. If looks could kill, then both males would have been stricken down in an instant. As it was though, they had to settle for exchanging unkind looks over the top of Lorelei's head.

"Argis would you take a seat already? It's annoying when it feels like someone is breathing down my neck." If Lorelei knew the two of them were having a glaring contest she made no mention of it, and just shoved a bowl of berries in Argis' direction when he sat down like she'd asked. She then set the letters aside and resumed eating, mumbling something about how meals were times for enjoying food and not worrying over the world.

Seeing as Lorelei wasn't going to finish whatever it was she'd planned to say, and Ondolemar himself wasn't going to broach the subject in front of others, the mer abruptly excused himself.

"I should be going. Thank you kindly for the meal, it was very nice." It was at best a half truth, for while he did enjoy her company greatly, things hadn't quite gone as he'd planned. Then again he wasn't really sure what he'd expected to happen, and perhaps it was better that the subject had been dropped for now. After all, words were like cuts, they couldn't be taken back once they'd taken form.

Lorelei accompanied him to the door, something unsaid hovering just behind her eyes as he stepped out onto the landing beyond the first few steps.

"Perhaps we can do this another time, I do rather enjoy your company," he said, hoping she would read between the lines. "Although I do find it curious that you eat breakfast in your armor." He was trying to lighten the mood, hoping for even a glimmer of her smile to come back into her drawn face.

"Yeh, well I normally don't get dressed until after I've eaten, but I figured that would have been a tad too informal while I had a guest. That and I have some errands to run today and didn't want to have to change again just to do them," she explained with a slight smile that tugged into a smirk as she went on. "Speaking of attire, it was nice seeing you out of your robes again."

"I left in a hurry this morning, so I had to settle for something simpler…"

"Well at any rate, it's a nice color, really brings out your eyes. And it makes you look a lot less serious."

"My work demands much from me… I don't get many opportunities to be anything but serious."

"I noticed that last night, but you shouldn't push yourself so hard. Trust me, a little fun now and then goes a long way." There was a note of concern in those first few words but it had turned to something casually sly by the end.

"That may be so, but, entertainment in Markarth seems a rare creature." Below them people were starting to begin their daily routines, albeit much later than they normally would have and Ondolemar knew he couldn't dally much longer.

"Maybe you just aren't looking in the right places then…" She was quick with a laugh, but he knew it was just a cover for the suggestion hidden in her words.

"Perhaps, " he said licking at suddenly dry lips, "I would be open to the idea if you'd be inclined." It was risky... but he had to know if she was implying what he assumed she was implying.

"Inclined for what?"

"Inclined to show me where the right places are." There was no way she could possibly miss what he was actually asking, of that he was quite certain. As if she could read his very mind, Lorelei's smile broaden and she said what he had hoped she would.

"Ah, sure, that sounds lovely. And my door is always open."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me so far! If you like this chapter please consider reviewing it.  
> Reviews give my empty shell of an existence meaning.


	5. Avarice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: So because Ondolemar doesn’t actually get a room to himself in Understone Keep, (poor bastard, no wonder he’s so cranky at times.) I’m basing the one in this story loosely off of a less lavish version of the Jarl’s bedroom. Similar layout just more cramped and less decorated. Also this chapter is going to be long… and there’s a lot to cover so onward brave reader, Talos be with you.  
> P.s. Sorry for the sweet roll comment. I just couldn’t help myself.

 

"Stupid dog," Ondolemar said shooing at the offending and slobbering mutt with a hand. "Be gone with you."

It was bad enough having to smell the wretched creature while he was trying to eat, much less having to wipe dog drool off his robes while the beast begged for his food. The dog turned its large brown eyes upwards, trying its hardest to look pitiful and in need of a few choice table scraps. An effort that was in utter vain as Ondolemar was having none of it today. He had learned to tolerate the Jarl's hounds only because they belonged to the _Jarl,_ but that didn't stop him from wishing they were better trained and it certainly didn't endear them to him in any fashion.

Sensing that it wasn't going to get anything besides harsh words from the dining Altmer, the dog decided to spite him by leaping up, placing its hand sized paws right into his meal, which upset most of it into his lap, and then snatching his gloves right off the table. Or rather he thought the dog was doing it to spite him, seeing as it had not only stolen his gloves but dumped piping hot soup on him, which was in a word, very unpleasant.

Needless to say Ondolemar leapt from his seat and tried to both see to his now uncomfortably hot lower region, and decide which spell would be most fitting a punishment for the tail wagging mongrel.

"That is the final straw you daedra spawned abomination! Voada! Kindly do something about this damned dog before I do it for you."

Of course, the aforementioned Voada had no intention of doing anything about the dog now playfully jumping about with a pair of Thalmor gloves flopping around in its mouth, as she was enjoying the show a tad too much. But luckily for Ondolemar, she wasn't the only one who knew how to handle boisterous animals.

"Sit boy."

He didn't have to see her to know who had spoken, he could paint a picture from her voice alone, and sure enough a second or so later Lorelei crested the stairs. The dog did as she told it, sweeping its tail joyously over the floor as she walked over and gave its shaggy head a pat.

"Good boy, now drop it." Again it did as she asked, albeit more reluctantly this time. With the drool covered gloves now in hand Lorelei gave the dog a friendly scratch behind the ears before heading over to where Ondolemar stood. She handed them to him and gingerly he accepted them with a muttered 'thank you'.

"You're welcome but I wonder if I might have a word? Alone if that's at all possible.'

“But of course. Come, we can speak while I change out of this mess.” Ondolemar beckoned for her to follow with one final look at the troublesome mutt that had near ruined his robes. Although if it meant getting Lorelei in his room... alone... with the promise of only her company... he would have trained that damnable dog to be even more of a nuisance.

_‘Of course if I had my way we’d have a greater guarantee of privacy than my room here really affords. Somewhere warm perhaps… near a sun drenched shore that was ours and ours alone.’_ The image brought a wistful smile to his face as he led her up the steps and past the war room where Legate Admand was moving little red and blue flags around on a parchment strewn table. Normally Ondolemar would have scoffed at the studious Imperial. The empire was, at best, on unsteady legs, a limping beast only continuing because his people allowed it to. The rebellion of the north was just more proof that the Empire had no real power, no real control.

“Are you alright?” Lorelei placed a hand on his shoulder with concern wrinkling her brow. “You look like someone stole your sweetroll.”

“Hm? Oh.. no, it’s nothing, just an errant thought. Anyway my quarters are just through this door,” he said as he held the door open for her with a sweep of his arm to usher her in. “After you my dear.”

“Uh… thanks.”

Once they were both inside he shut the door and locked it on a whim. The sound of the bolt clicking into place did bring an air of suspicion to Lorelei’s demeanor, but Ondolemar brushed it aside with a shrug.

“I normally lock it when I’m changing clothes. My subordinates do not always knock before bursting in.” Which was true but hardly the reason he’d done so. _‘And I certainly wouldn’t want them bursting in on us.’_  No one was going to interrupt the precious time he spent with her alone, oh no.  Considering he hadn’t seen her in weeks due to the fact that she’d been off traipsing around the province doing, the eight only knew what, for people who were almost positively undeserving of her attention? He would be damned if he let someone carelessly ruin this little reunion.

“Just make yourself comfortable while I change, it shouldn’t take long and then perhaps I can tempt you with a meal?” he asked coyly as he strolled behind a high half-wall that sheltered his bed and dresser from view of the door. Though he was disappointed to see that Lorelei stayed hovering near the entrance, the top of her blonde hair just visible to the loftily positioned mer.    _‘Such a demure demeanor even when we’re alone. For all of her passion at times she still manages to be shy..._ ’ his thoughts sighed to the tune of a flutter of heat in his stomach. Still he’d wistfully hoped she would follow him, and maybe even make a cheeky excuse about wanting to help him undo the belt and clasps of his robes. Just imagining such tantalizing words brought a little shiver down his spine, but unfortunately he had to do all of his undressing himself. “Did you get the letters I sent?” he asked her over the stone barrier that separated them, if he had to take his clothes off himself the least she could do was talk to him with those honey flavored lips.

“Yes, all of them… That is part of what I wanted to talk to you about.” The cadence of her voice sounded measured and careful, which as Ondolemar was well aware of, was not how she normally spoke. He paused hearing that hesitance in her voice, the clean tunic he’d pulled from his dresser still held just over his head as a weight he couldn’t quite name began pressing against the inside his chest. Had he overstepped some unspoken boundary? Had someone besides Lorelei read his letters and caused her some form of trouble because of them? It seemed unlikely, he’d been so careful with his wording after all. Sure, Lorelei herself would have been able to pick up on the subtleties, the careful use of compliments that were sprinkled in-between the seemingly platonic banter. But if anyone else were to as notice it as well?

Carefully Ondolemar let his tunic fall over his head, feeling that lump  steadily build. Lorelei had fallen silent at that point, and he could just spy her fiddling with the silver chain she always had about her neck.

_‘Maybe I can salvage this…. apologize to her even.’_ He didn’t actually know what he would need to apologize for, because she hadn’t said that anything was actually wrong. However Ondolemar wasn’t naive, and his instincts had been honed through both battle and the cutthroat world of politics. She didn’t need to say anything for him to know something was bothering her, the weight of it was in the air, burrowing into his shoulders.

Lorelei still had her back to him as he crept over to her with his hands hidden behind him. There were many advantages to being of elven heritage, particularly the ability to tread silently when one wished. His arms encircled her shoulders then, a chain of delicately wrought silver strung between his fingers as he placed it around her throat. Her surprise was immediate, the little jump of startled nerves pushing her backwards into his waiting arms as they slid from clasp down the contours of her armored back to rest at her waist. True the plates of her armor, where dragon scale and bone provided protection, were not exactly what he wanted to feel beneath his fingertips but that could wait he supposed. And at least for now it was enough to merely hold her and bury his face in the fragrance of her hair.

Lorelei looked first to the necklace and then over her shoulder and up into his face in bafflement.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely but… why?”

_‘For a woman being courted my dear, you still manage to sound incredibly incredulous.’_ He shook the thought off with a sigh along her earlobe, enjoy the moment stolen as it was.

“I saw it and thought of you, do I need more of a reason than that?” If she was going to play coy then he would return the favor, what matter was it to him? He had several of her lifetimes to waltz to this inaudible symphony. “And I recalled you saying the one you wear is growing weak with age. I would have offered to change the pendant over but you seemed rather… touchy about the thought last time it was even mentioned.”

“....thank you Ondolemar… it really is lovely.”

Ondolemar took a respectful, albeit reluctant step away from her, giving her the space her tensed body seemed to need. He moved instead to sit at his desk, one leg folded over the other hoping the casual  posture might be contagious. “Think nothing of it, now what was it you wished to talk about?”

The rigidity did not leave her shoulders nor her face despite the smile she forced. “A favor, seems I always end up needing them where you’re concerned.”

“You know I don’t expect you to repay me in anyway right? It isn’t as if I keep a tally or something.”

“I know but this one might make you consider doing so. I was wondering if you could get me an invitation….” Lorelei hesitated long enough to prompt Ondolemar to nod her onward with a brow raised. “An invitation to the embassy.”

Ondolemar said nothing at first, his mind painfully blank as it tried desperately to sort out the odd thing it had just heard.

“The Thalmor embassy,” she clarified, making his raised brow scoot a tad higher up his face.

“Why…?” A more blunt and suspicious response than he truly wished to say but the only thing echoing in his head that his tongue agreed to form.

“A few reasons actually, but um… they’re all somewhat embarrassing to say out loud.” When he once more remained silent, her awkward admission proceeded. “I’ve always been infatuated with exotic foods, and cultures as well… But it isn’t as if I could travel to Summerse…  Alinor myself…” She let her eyes drift over to his hoping he wouldn’t make her continue the explanation.

“You wish to see how Altmer prefer to live? While not having to leave Skyrim to do so?” he ventured after another stretch of awkward silence.

Lorelei nodded with a shade of apprehension tightening her expression.

“Well, I suppose it is possible. I have to attend a party of sorts there in a few weeks anyway, it shouldn’t be too much trouble to inform the first emissary that I am bringing a guest. But I do have one question before I agree to do so,” Ondolemar  answered with mock graveness, trying desperately to keep the smile off of his face. “Do you have something appropriate to wear to such a gathering? After all you can’t go armed to the teeth and the highest of skyrim society will be there.”

If it were possible to go pale  while already being considerably so, Lorelei managed it. The color fled from beneath the sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks and her mouth became little more than a thin pink line.

“I will take that as a no,”

“I will have to double check but I doubt anything I have stashed away would be up to par.” Again the color returned to Lorelei’s face, in the form of red where she wished it wasn’t.

“Well then there’s nothing for it, we’ll just have to get you something.” Ondolemar seemed to have absorbed every ounce of joy that had fled Lorelei’s body at the realization, practically dancing on the balls of his feet as he rose to show her the door. “I’d suggest getting your things in order and a good night’s rest then, it is a long way to Solitude and I’d rather leave first thing in the morning if at all possible.”

“Solitude? Surely we’re not going all that way for some clothing… I know of at least one seamstress here in Markar…”

He cut her off with a wave just as he reached the door. “Endarie is the best seamstress in Skyrim and one of the few Altmer ones I know of. If you meant what you said about wanting to learn more of my culture then this really is the best way to begin. Do not worry yourself over it, surely you can spare a bit of time? After all I am doing you quite a favor by inviting you to the embassy, something I would not do for anyone else you know.”

If she had any more objections Lorelei decided against voicing them. And after a brief but seemingly sincere ‘thank you,’ left his company, leaving Ondolemar to begin setting things in order with a sense of barely contained excitement.

 

* * *

 

 

The road to Solitude proved both tedious and mostly uneventful, utterly failing to live up to the expectations Ondolemar had harbored that morning when he and Lorelei had left Markarth’s stables. For one thing the majority of the journey was spent beneath a drizzling rain that turned the landscape into a dreary backdrop of mud and slick rocks. They encountered bandits on no fewer than three separate occasions and while one might expect such encounters to liven things up, it only managed to punch holes in the Altmer’s mood. Though he had to wonder how much of that was fault of the weather and how much of that was due to Lorelei’s sudden standoffishness.

Which ever it was, Ondolemar could not have been more relieved when Solitude’s looming gates finally came into view. The red and white banners were somewhat sunbleached as they fluttered in the lazy summer breeze and the light from the setting sun.

“Have you ever been to Solitude?”

Lorelei shook her head after a moment’s pause, her eyes lingering on the gate even as she dismounted. She gave the reigns of the shaggy beast of a horse she’d rode on to Cirion, before removing a few things from her pack.

“You know you do not have to worry about your things, I assure you they will make it to where we will be staying safely.”

“I’m not worried,” Lorelei finally said only after Ondolemar had placed a hand on her shoulder. “I simply don’t like going anywhere unarmed.” In her hand were two short daggers, their blades bearing no semblance to iron or steel. Ondolemar should have known, it had taken him ages to persuade her out of bringing her usual armory worth of weapons on their journey. A fact she’d oft reminded him of when they’d had to dispatch bandits on their journey.

“I find your lack of trust a tad disquieting. You’re with an agent of the Thalmor and in Skyrim’s capitol city, what harm could possibly befall you? Short of a dragon attack I can’t think of much that would be cause for concern. And in such an unlikely event as that, I doubt daggers are going to be much use anyway.”

“I don’t take chances Ondolemar, better to have them and have no need for them than the latter.”

He shrugged at that, unwilling to argue and wanting only to move past their current uneasiness to something more pleasant. A something he hoped would be just beyond Solitude’s doors.

It was crowded beyond the doors, even by the capitol’s usual standards. One didn’t have to look far to see what had attracted them, a raised platform and a headman’s black hood needed no further explanation.

At Ondolemar’s side Lorelei was little more than a statue. Her shallow breaths the only sign that she had not actually turned to marble. He didn’t understand it, how could she cut a man down in the space it took him to raise his own weapon and yet freeze utterly in the face of an execution?

“Are you alright?”

She gave no answer.

The man’s crimes were read allowed and the crowd around them fell silent.

“We shouldn’t linger, I doubt Endarie keeps her shop open very long after the sun sets.”

She ignored his hand on her waist, paid no heed to the words he spoke.       

To his knees the doomed man went and all those before him held their breath as one.

 

“Lorelei…”

 

The axe fell and the crowd exhaled.

 

Justice.

 

* * *

 

“Justiciar! It is so good to see you.”

Endarie met them at the door, her surprise quickly hidden in the folds of a polite smile.

“A pleasure as always Endarie, I hope you and your sister have fared well since last we saw each other?” Still hovering at the entrance, Ondolemar stood with hands clasped lightly behind his back, waiting to be invited in.

“As fair as locale permits,” the high elf’s laugh was noncommittal, a decorative thing as she stood aside to let him and Lorelei pass. To the latter, Endarie paid no attention, serving the upper echelons of Solitude had taught her many things, restraint of her curiosity was but one of them.

“I do hope you’ll forgive the late hour of this visit, the crowds waylaid us somewhat.” The fact that this was something of a lie was of no consequence, a nicety reserved only for his own people. As he and Lorelei moved further into the shop the nord’s movements remained wooden, her eyes downcast and her presence somewhat dampened and small. Ondolemar left the matter alone for now, resigned to not question her in any fashion when in the presence of others. Later, when privacy was theirs, he could unravel the layers. And if everything went as planned, her troubles would not be the only things left to lie upon the floor.

“It’s no trouble at all, my sister and I are always at the service of the Dominion. So to what do I owe this evening’s visit?” The sister in question was nowhere to be seen, a fact that confirmed Ondolemar’s suspicions concerning what time Endarie normally locked her doors. 

“Elenwen’s having a little gala in a few weeks and my guest,” he reached for Lorelei’s hand and found it limp at her side. “Is sadly lacking in appropriate attire.” The touch seemed to startle her out of whatever thought she’d been lost in but she didn’t pull away, rather moving closer to him as her air of confidence steadily returned. It was as if the journey of the past few days had been painted over by a skilled artist, one specializing in the expression of fond memory rather than reality. Ondolemar turned back to Endarie and found her gaze steadily on his face and nowhere else. _‘How wise of her...’_

The shift from vague politeness to seamstress was jarring, like watching a rabbit metamorphize into a hawk. Around them both Endarie circled, keen and precise in every motion until finally she cleared her throat.

“I have a few orders already that will need to be finished, but I believe I can come up with something fitting in time.”

“As always you will be compensated appropriately for your skill and speed.”

“Of that I never doubt, my dear Ondolemar. With you I am never disappointed.”

Through the glove on his hand Ondolemar could feel Lorelei’s fingers tighten around his own.

For that smallest of reactions and the part she’d played in causing them, Ondolemar didn’t know whether to scowl at Endarie’s comment or praise her for it.

Whether she saw the unspoken exchange or shift in Lorelei’s demeanor was unknown as Endarie moved back behind the counter and began pulling bolts of fabric from the shelves built below its top.

“Now, do you have a particular style in mind already or do I get free reign over the design?”

“Something I can move and breath in, nothing heavy or constricting,” Lorelei stated bluntly, not an ounce of timidity in her.  The surety of it left both he and Endarie blinking, the latter having mostly forgotten that Lorelei was still in the room. 

“Alright… anything else?”

“Not that I can think of, no.”

“...I see…”

When Endarie’s gaze shifted from Lorelei to Ondolemar all he had to offer her was shrug and a nod. After all, Lorelei would be the one wearing it, why wouldn’t she have a say in how comfortable it should be?

Endarie still had a bolt of silk in one hand and a wadded ribbon used for measuring in her other. Her head was to the side, considering Lorelei in a way that had naught to do with dresses or racial tensions.

After a time she set both items down and splayed golden fingers over the fabric, smoothing the wrinkles from it. “I think I have just the design, but it will take a bit of time to make. I will need you to be here by dawn tomorrow unless you want me to take your measurements tonight.”

“Tonight is fine if you’re willing.”

Of the three, only Ondolemar seemed surprised at Lorelei’s decision. Endarie gestured for Lorelei to follow and the two females left him standing in the front room with naught to do.

 

* * *

 

 

That same night, when the hour was well and truly late, the two sat alone well within Castle Dour’s thick walls. Between them, the remains of the evening’s meal and a fair few bottles of wine, only one of which Ondolemar himself had partaken of. The conversation had meandered for a while, a lazy path pleasantly wandered yet all the same hedged and thin in form.

He’d been content to watch her cheeks flush with alcohol, the slow but steady relaxation that followed. The easing of shoulders and freer flow of words were tempting yet fragile, a delicate peace.

“You know, I’ve been hoping to do this for a while.”

She stirred at that, straightening in her chair.

“Any particular reason?”

“A few, but mostly just the fact that there always seems to be some distraction or interruption when ever you and I have a moment to ourselves.” His slender fingers tapped against the delicate stem of his glass.

She bit her lip and he couldn’t decide whether he should call attention to the gesture or not.

“Ondolemar… can I ask you something?”

A sweet mouthful hung heavy on a drunken tongue, baiting promise and titillation with the same soft voice.

“Anything.”

“Do you ever grow tired of this life? Tired of the endless responsibility and conflict?”

He knew he should focus on the question she’d asked, the layers of her tone and wistful expression begging to be untangled. And yet the play of her fingertip was what  captured his attention. Ungloved and naked beneath the fragile firelight, it invoked concupiscent inclination each time it brushed the brim of her near empty glass.

He poured the rest of their last bottle into that same glass, his hand trembling as the rest of him shivered involuntarily.

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to say. I’ve known no other life.”

A mirthless smile pulled at her lips, trapped somewhere between sardonic and somber.

“You asked me that for a reason… the least you could do is explain it.” He couldn’t help but flinch away from that look, listless and wanting as it was.

“It’s nothing really, I don’t know why I brought it up.” She rose from her chair unsteadily, alcohol or exhaustion stripping her natural grace from each step. To the window she went, steadying herself with hands splayed along the sill. He followed without so much as a thought, only  a feeling of restlessness obeyed but unacknowledged left to bloom in his chest.

“Lorelei… please…”

The eyes of her reflection were closed, his pleadings ignored.

With a growl suppressed but still lingering between his teeth, he ran his hands through his hair, musing the short strands as if the motion would somehow untangled  the intangible thorns that had rose between them. There was nothing for it, he could either remain ever on the outside as he was now or risk being cut. He chose the latter.

As his arms encircled her waist Lorelei stiffened, immobile and utterly cold. He persisted, resting his chin along her shoulder standing just as still.

It was surprisingly difficult to remain like that, his fingers itching to caress as surely as his lips wished to taste hers again. It tested more than his patience to wait, to will her through tenderness to soften once more and not shake her and force his way in. Even when her shoulders slumped and her head came to rest against her chest there was still that edge, an awkward jerk to her movements that hadn’t been there before.

“There is no one here Lorelei,” he kissed the curve of her neck softly, the temptation crawling beneath his skin reveling in this small victory. “So why are you still hiding?”

 The rest of the night was surprisingly chaste, the day’s earlier events leaving little room for anything but sleeping. Ondolemar did not mind, content to lay next to Lorelei’s sleeping form and listen to the fragile cadence of her breathing. He wondered if it was necessarily right to have lied to her about there only being one available bed, about insisting that all the inns were booked full. Of course he need only turn to his left to allay such thoughts.

She had her head cradled in the crook of her elbow, her other arm resting along her side and over her hip. Had he not known she slept lightly, he would have spent the entire night tracing the lines of her back in languid circles. But the slightest brush against her skin would wake her, and shatter a moment he wanted only to stretch to time’s end.

 

* * *

 

 

When Ondolemar woke Lorelei was nowhere to be seen. The sun’s light had marched far across the expensive rugs along the floor, the day’s hour late. He dressed hastily, unease becoming a sickening weight in his stomach. General Tullius and his legate spared him the briefest of looks when he hurried past them. He wasn’t surprised, very few Justiciars actually made use of castle Dour’s upper rooms, despite the fact that they’d been turned over to the Dominion by Torygg himself prior to his untimely death.

It was actually that fact that had made him decide upon them for this stay in the first place. With his normal guards sent ahead to the Embassy he would have Lorelei and a full suite of rooms to himself. That was, if he could find her.

Solitude was much as it had been the day prior though less crowded and perhaps a shade or two more hushed. Another fact he found to be unsurprising, executions had a way of both rallying and also dampening spirits. He’d seen it plenty of times during his service to the Dominion.

Although he noticed this and other things, they were not what his mind settled on. His first stop was Radiant Raiments, but all he found was Taarie sewing a sleeve on to what was clearly a wedding dress.

“Please tell me that is not the design your sister had in mind.” It was something of a struggle to get his jaw to work properly, the vision of laced frills and veils taking up everything in sight.

“Hm? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. All I know is Endarie saddled me with this so she could start some new project. She’s talked about naught else the entire morning.”

Ondolemar’s eyes  closed in a flood of relief, compulsively nodding long after Taarie had finished speaking. She waited impatiently for him to either leave or continue speaking, not enjoying this interruption any more than she did the unexpected extra work.

“Anything else?”

“No not reall… actually, have you seen a rather tall, blonde nordic woman today?”

A careless jerk of her hand earned Taarie a pricked finger and Ondolemar a look that wished to kill.

“You do know we’re in Skyrim yes? You just described the majority of my customers.”

Ondolemar muttered something beneath his breath before hurrying back out the door, not wishing to waste time on what was clearly a pointless conversation.

Just as he crossed the busy street he spied the object of his search exiting a building herself. The sign hung before the door read “The Winking Skeever”, Ondolemar’s memory supplied the answer to his unformed question. The place was a tavern, often the first stop for travelers, the last stop for craftsmen and the permanent haunt of ne’er-do-wells.

He caught up with her within seconds, and the startlement she tried quickly to cover only made him that much more suspicious.

“You could have woken me.”

A shrug, a side step as an overladen laborer pushed between them and finally Lorelei answered.

“There was no reason to wake you, and besides Endarie spent the entire morning alternating between pinning me into things and arguing with me. I doubt you would have wanted to be around for that.”

The image conjured did ease his nerves somewhat, her demeanor did the rest. Chin up, chest out even without her armor, Lorelei cut a variable swath through the the milling crowds. She seemed unhurried today, dressed down in simple trews and a green tunic belted at the waist. And though the other women they passed were draped in skirt and colored shawl, Ondolemar noted that a fair few eyes lingered upon his companion. His chest felt tight, a snarl and a smile fighting for control beneath the surface’s tranquil edge.

“Still, a note or some such would have been appreciated.”

Solitude’s market was perhaps one of the busiest in Skyrim. Certainly the busiest Ondolemar had personally seen. From the docks an endless stream of goods were unloaded onto wide rumbling carts, hauled by mules or men depending on the weight, and shifted to warehouses to be further dispersed among the vendors. The stalls lay in rows, wooden framing crowned by colorful fabric awnings that flapped in the salted breeze. Behind each a merchant or three, bargaining and bartering for each clipped septim passed from pouch to palm.  

The streets were paved in board stones, any patches of earth pounded down to be equally unyielding as cart and customer moved ceaselessly over them. Those shops that had more permanency were a welcome change from Markarth’s dwarven architecture, their wooden supports and door frames carved by skilled hands with a thousand different designs.  Even the noises were different, overhead gulls competed with hawks for every inch of sky and at street level accents punctuated the drone of nordic speech. Sailors from every corner of Tamriel earned and subsequently spent their wages here. Whether in the tavern Lorelei had walked out of earlier or on the flasher dressed women who plied their trade in such places.

Lorelei seemed to drink in every sight and sound as they came upon them.

They strolled aimlessly, the crowds thinning the farther from the  market they went. Lorelei gently bumped her shoulder against his, that energy back in her stride that had so sorely been missing. It was as if she were tasting the air itself, invigorated and renewed.

“I thought you’d traveled the whole of the province.” His curiosity had bested him, flowing up and over his attempt to restrain it at exactly the same moment she’d hurried over to the Bard’s College.

“I have seen a lot of Skyrim’s wilderness, but little of its cities.”

Ondolemar was surprised she’d even heard him over the crush of music that pulsed from the college’s courtyard. Though she’d paused to listen, Lorelei made no move towards the stairs. As Ondolemar drew closer, the lyrics of the ballad began to order themselves into coherence.

“With our blood and our steel, we will take back our home.”

It was one he’d heard before, bellowed by legionaries when they’d had too much mead. Ondolemar had to admit it was much more bearable when sung by someone who could carry a tune. As the song finished and the next began Lorelei tugged at his hand.

“You know we could stay and listen a bit longer if you wanted,” he told her offhandedly, not quite understanding her sudden urge to leave as swiftly as she’d stopped.

The bard’s melodic lilt swelled, a crested wave born of sound rather than sea.

“I tell you I tell you, the dragonborn comes,”

Lorelei flashed him a pained smile  and continued walking.

It was some time later, after the pair had decided to walk the city’s outer wall, before Ondolemar thought to question that earlier display.

“Does it bother you? The songs they sing of you, I mean.”

“Not really, it’s tradition in a way, to exaggerate a tale with each retelling.” Her gaze was on the sea that stretched out and past the horizon. Ondolemar himself had his back to it, half seated, half propped by a foot against the wall and his arms folded over his chest comfortably.

“You seemed bothered earlier… it’s why I ask.” He turned in time to watch her hands half clench before relaxing once more and coming to clasp one another. The western-moving sun painted her face in hues of gold and nothing could have made his chest ache more in that moment.

It was a fire poker to him, stirring things deep down where no light shone and calling them to excitement. Those things, specious and athirst, uncoiled warm and slipped like a veil before his eyes. They coated the world in hues of scarlet and set her at the center of some intangible, unknowable web. Did she know what strings she so deftly pulled upon within the confines of his very core? A place no other being had even come close to reaching?

“It’s a bard’s job to please a crowd, to fill them with hope or rally them to a cause. Songs of fear, of fire… they do not get sung.” She shifted her weight, a rattling breath pushing from between her teeth. “In a way I am glad for that, some experiences should never be passed on or told to another.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, the conversation fading off until he decided to change the subject.

“There’s something I’ve wondered for a while. What ever prompted you to settle in Markarth?”

She laughed at that, a sudden bark that lingered pleasantly in his ear.

“You really don’t like that city do you?”

“And you do?”

“It has its advantages.” The mirth still edged her words even as her hands came up in some shrug of a gesture.

His own tone turned decidedly incredulous as he responded.

“Such as?”

Lorelei sobered quickly, ticking off her reasons on her fingers as she voiced them.

“Near all the buildings are made of stone, meaning they’d be damn-hard to set fire to. There’s even an old city beneath its streets in case the upper portion ever gets destroyed. For its size, Markarth’s population is low, so if the rest of the hold had to suddenly flee the countryside there’s enough room in the city to go around. Igmund maybe old and stubborn most of the time but he is not a stupid man, and he’s not so stubborn as to ignore good counsel when he gets it.”

“It sounds like you expect Markarth to be besieged by a dragon any day now.”

The look Lorelei gave him was hard and admonishing.

“I hunt them for a living, I need the place where I live to be able to deal with any retribution that may come because of that.”

Once more he found his words run dry and the mood turned chill between them. But this time Ondolemar would not allow it to spread, he needed to cut it off at the head.

“I didn’t think of that, then again, a dragon attack is not something I worry about often.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, being a part of the Dominion does have some peculiar perks.”

“Such as?”

He couldn’t hide his knowing smile and didn’t even try, half lidded eyes peering at her questioning face over the jut of his shoulder. “You will see soon enough I should think. For now let’s just enjoy the reprieve we have.”

The weeks that followed were more than he’d hoped for but less than he’d wanted. Lorelei grew more open with him, their discourse freer but her passion still  held behind the thickest of metaphorical walls. By the time her dress was done the eve of the gala had arrived and Ondolemar knew their time in Solitude had drawn to a close.


	6. Envy

Elenwen met them at the door, a most sour note upon which to start the evening.

“So you did decide to bring a guest, I must say I am a little surprised. So tell me, who do I have the pleasure of meeting tonight?” Ondolemar didn’t know if Lorelei understood all the little signs with which the first emissary made her displeasure known, but he hoped beyond hope that she would refrain from rising to the bait.

“First emissary Elenwen, the pleasure and honor are mine. I have heard so much about you.”

“All of it good I hope,” Whatever response Elenwen had been expecting, the one Lorelei gave left her little to pick at or mock. Not that she didn’t try anyway. “You’ll forgive me though, Justiciar Ondolemar forgot to mention your name when he informed me he would be bringing a guest. So I’m not quite sure what to call you.”

“Lady Emissary, this is Lorelei. One of Markarth’s most prominent citizens and my guest for the evening.” Wrapping his threats and simultaneous claim over Lorelei in seeming niceties didn’t even require thought on Ondolemar’s part, this dance of the unseen ingrained into him to the point of becoming second nature.

“I see, well I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight. If you’ll excuse me I must see to the rest of my guests.” It had only taken moments, but already Ondolemar could feel his hackles rising.

Lorelei let her hand drift to his arm, jarring him from the feeling of wariness.

“You worry too much,” she whispered as he lead them through the room and as far from Elenwen as he could manage. “Once you’ve faced dragons, the words of others don’t much bother you.”

He contemplated arguing, or at the very least warning her that he’d face a dragon over Elenwen any day. Lorelei never gave him time though, her gaze and their conversation swiftly turning to the food Elenwen’s servants had laid out along one of the room’s walls. Among the richly dressed guests moved simpler garbed serving girls, carrying trays laden with yet more food and drink. As one passed near them Ondolemar gave into Lorelei’s prompting and began naming off the dishes he recognized, listing the ingredients when he knew them.

They both took glasses from a tray, the drink amber colored and sharp. Brandy most likely, though it had been so long since he’d had it he couldn’t be sure. Lorelei took only a few sips of hers before setting it aside in order to ply him with more questions. Turning from talk of food to Aldmeri culture and then more specifically what it was like to be a part of the Dominion. Ondolemar kept trying to assure her it was too dry a topic for what was supposed to be a party, even if the sudden interest pleased him greatly.

The evening wore on, more people arrived, some of whom he recognized from past parties. As the room filled, other’s joined their conversation. Other agents wanting to gawk at Lorelei from beneath the hood of their robes or slyly jab their elbows into his side when they thought he could not see them. For the most part Lorelei seemed oblivious to this, calmly and confidently maneuvering through all obstacles set in her path with a deftness that surprised him.

The evening seemed to be going well enough until Lorelei offered to fetch them both more to drink.

The instant she left his side Ondolemar felt on edge, instinct that had oft served him well ringing little warning bells along nerve and thought alike. In a room filled with tall robed figures and expensively dressed humans he lost sight of her within minutes. And it took but a few more for his fellow mer to make their comments a bit more bold.

“I didn’t realize Markarth was so bereft of suitable women.” This from behind him, from a voice he knew with the same revulsion that one knows the squeak of a skeever by.

“Rulindil, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Repeat it for me if you’d please.”

Ondolemar could have crushed the the thin crystal goblet in his hands they wanted to ball into a fist so badly. And while breaking something would have been somewhat satisfying, he knew the only thing he wished to truly break was the bridge of Rulindil’s crooked nose. And possibly a few of his teeth as well. He set the glass aside, empty as it was anyway.

“Don’t tell me, I want to guess at what exactly you see in her.” Rulindil might have been bold in word, but he was hardly that way in deed. After all, he preferred his opponents to be tied down before any physical violence took place. It was much easier for him that way. It was also the exact reason why he made Ondolemar’s skin crawl.  

“Is there a point to this little chat? I’m sure there are other people whose time you could be wasting.”

Rulindil’s laugh was thin and brittle, broken glass dragged agonizingly slow across the eardrums.

“Oh I’m sure I could find someone else to keep company, perhaps even your guest.”

It was as if someone had poured fire down Ondolemar’s throat, the palms on his hands stinging as his fingertips pressed and then bit into his flesh.

_‘Don’t do it, he’s baiting you, he always does. Let it go. let. it. go.’_

“What do you think? Do you think she’d enjoy a tour of the lower rooms? I could show her a bit of my work perhaps, I’m sure she’d be… talking about it all night long.”

Ondolemar turned without realizing it, his fist half raised and already crackling with magicka.

“Enjoying yourselves I hope?” Elenwen was at his elbow, some farcical mockery of a polite smile curling along her lips.

He uncurled his hand, turning the nearly thrown spell into reaching for an imaginary speck of dust along Rulindil’s collar.

“But of course Lady Emissary.” This from Rulindil who could not help but flinch away from Ondolemar’s touch, though his own thin hands were still folded inside the depths of his sleeves.

“Wonderful,” Elenwen said once it was clear that neither was stupid enough to continue the quarrel in her presence. She and Ondolemar might have been on equal footing within the Dominion’s ranks, but this was her territory to be sure and any mistake on his part would merely be a dagger she could slip between his ribs. “Rulindil, I do believe you had a matter to take care of did you not? A contact waiting to report or some such?”

Swallowing hard Rulindil nodded.

“Yes, how forgetful of me.”

“Best get to it then.”

He needed no more urging, slipping from beneath Ondolemar’s arm and hastily weaving through the other party guests. The hush that had fallen over those gathered quickly dissipated, likely at Elenwen’s non verbal prompting.

“Why do you even keep him around?” Ondolemar hissed when the babble around them reached a point where it was possible to talk more freely.

“He is good at his job and does what I tell him to, I wish I could say the same for all my underlings.”

“How pragmatic of you.” He didn’t even try to conceal his contempt.

Elenwen made no response at first, watching him from the corner of her eye under the guise of observing her other guests or drinking from her own glass of brandy.

“And your ...guest? I see she’s wandered off on her own. How troubling,” she said at last, smirking from behind her glass’ brim.

“I don’t see why it is troubling, not everyone has to keep their… guests in a cage in order to make them stay.” The moment he said it was roughly the same instant he regretted doing so. For while the twisted thing that became Elenwen’s expression was unbelievably satisfying, the price of that transgression was likely to be very costly.

For a moment Ondolemar thought she might choke on the liquor in her mouth, in fact he half hoped she would. Unfortunately for him, Elenwen hadn’t far to look to find the most perfect retort.

“That may be so, but at least when they are caged there is no chance of them breeding like rabbits behind your back.”

Though his gut warned him he shouldn’t, Ondolemar followed Elenwen’s pointed gaze and landed squarely on Lorelei.

She was talking with the bosmer that often acted as tapster at Elenwen’s parties. Ondolemar couldn’t recall his name at the moment, whether that was due to the sudden wave of nausea or the blankness of his thoughts he didn’t know. With so many bodies, and so many conversations between them it was impossible to hear what was being said. But he didn’t need to hear their words when body language said so very much.

They were standing close… too close, Lorelei had leaned in even as he watched and…

Ondolemar turned away, whatever happened next was something he didn’t wish to see.

“I suppose I should let you go see to your guest. Busy as she seems to be at the moment.” Now that she’d seen him wounded, Elenwen wished only to twist that knife deeper. “ Perhaps next time you’ll take a bit more care in who you extend invitations to.” She left it at that, claiming victory and preening with each step.

His skin felt hot beneath his robes, tight and constricting around strained muscles. It was not the closeness that had clenched his jaw and fists so achingly tight, it was the ease in her movements, the friendliness that she had given to a stranger freely but made he himself work for. He felt as if he was going to be physically sick.

“Lorelei… a moment if you will.” When she looked up at him, and he saw the edge of annoyance that lingered, as if he were inconveniencing or interrupting… Ondolemar felt that heat from earlier run cold. “Outside, now.” Glaciers surely held more warmth than his words did in that moment, his grip on her elbow like steel as he half pulled, half marched her outside and into the courtyard.

* * *

 

They’d been standing in knee deep snow for what felt like hours, only the heat of their quarrel keeping them from shivering as the falling flakes helped to dampen the volume of their voices.

Ondolemar didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he’d dragged her from the party and out into such dismal weather, an apology most likely. That was not what had transpired.

“I just still don’t know why you’re upset with me.” Her arms were folded inside her cloak, the dusting of snow over them accentuating the line of her annoyance.

“I find that hard to believe considering it is beyond obvious.” Aedra help him, why did she have to be difficult now? When things had gone so smoothly before…

“Talk to me then! Why can’t you just say what’s on your mind instead of expecting me to read it? I’m not sure if you noticed but I am no mage. My apologies that mind scrying wasn’t a skill I picked up while running all around the countryside killing dragons.”

“No, I suppose it would be presumptuous to imagine a Nord knowing anything about the higher arts or for that matter, proper etiquette.”

“And there it is.” Lorelei flung her arms to the side. “It isn’t something I did that’s bothering you. It’s what you think I am.” He could hear her voice cracking and it wasn’t from the cold. “Just another stubborn human is that it?”

“Well you certainly aren’t proving the lie right this moment now are you?” He knew he should stop, try a different tactic to get her to do as he wanted.

“I am more than my people! I can only barely count myself among them most days. Aedra help me I’m not even from Skyrim!” She turned to storm a few paces away, cutting a swath through the snow drifts. “And don’t think they aren’t quick to remind me. _‘Ay lass you got a proper name and a fair face but are you really a daughter of the north? I hear you got imperial blood in ya’_ As if it should matter whose daughter I am. But oh does it ever, to you, to them.” Again she spoke with her hands in ways too sharp to be carried on the tongue. “Regardless of how many villages I save or dragons I fell. Yes, they who I feel most akin to, they who understand the ache in my soul, and yet for mortals such as you and those you spit on... I slay them.  I hunt them and devour their very souls.” She caught him with a gaze like steel and cut from him any words he might have had. “Yet you would _chide_ me on how I do not _endeavor_ enough to fit into your world? You presume so very, very much Justiciar.”

Ondolemar could not find the words nor the spitefulness needed for a response, the echoes of Lorelei’s words issuing through the empty courtyard in much the same way they did his mind. She was correct, he had assumed, he had been careless with his words and let his emotions color his actions. However, he noted as she turned away from him and stormed off into the thick flurry drifting from the sky, she too had been careless, she too had assumed.

As if on cue every possible slight Ondolemar might have felt over the past month or so came creeping like spiders into his mind. There they built a vile nest, turning nearly every memory into venom that fed into his growing anger and further wounding his injured pride. The drink he’d partaken of a bit too liberally earlier seemed to sour in his gut, churning with emotion he didn’t want to admit to feeling.

He debated for a time about going back inside and requesting a room for the night from the first emissary. But the more he pictured the smug look on Elenwen’s face and the averted gazes of all those that had witnessed their little scene earlier, the more he wanted to be as far from this cold troublesome mountain top as possible. He left the courtyard with heavy steps, his mind barely remarking on the seeming lack of guards posted around with a cruelly snide thought. They were probably off somewhere getting drunk themselves, making fools of themselves with each other in clearly indecent ways. _‘Likely with the excuse of staying warm or what ever lie comes to mind,_ ’ his mind quipped once more as he let himself out of the front gates and down to where his horse was tethered.

Without a single look back Ondolemar hoisted himself into the saddle and yanked the reins hard, spurring his mount back down the path. The thought of Lorelei realizing her mistake, then realizing he’d left because of her foolish outburst and appalling behavior, brought him a sort of grim satisfaction. And it was with a bitter ‘good riddance’ that Ondolemar considered the fact that she’d have to make it back to Markarth alone.


	7. Satiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains Smut.

 

Ondolemar held the parchment in his hand as if it were a serpent made of the most delicate glass, poised to either strike him or shatter at the slightest provocation. He’d read it or at least tried to a dozen times, his eyes catching over the same passage again and again. Like a desperate hand clutching for a hold his mind was flailing, scrambling from thought to thought until the meaning shook loose and shattered the hesitation.

 

He stood with such a force that his chair was sent clattering to the stone floor of his quarters, the other papers on his desk scattering every which way while he held this single sheaf aloft. Worry, dread, anxiety, panic. The feeling was too tangled and urgent to name, even as his guard burst into the room, startled to action by the noises within. Ondolemar ordered them right back out again, not once taking his eyes off the letter.

 

On the parchment's back, his name in tight script and the First Emissary’s seal detailed in broken wax. It looked like a dozen other such notes that were now fluttering to the floor. But the contents of this one… the implication…

 

He swallowed hard, clenched and unclenched his fists and then refolded the letter with his shaking hands.   _‘Speculation gets me nowhere. I’ll simply have to see for myself.’_ He half wanted to crumple the letter and pretend he’d never received it. He didn’t want to walk those steps to _her_ home… to knock on _her_ door, question _her_ as Elenwen now demanded. The other half was wondering what in oblivion he was waiting for.

 

It had been less than three weeks since the incident at the embassy. He’d barely stepped outside of Understone keep in that time. Any errand concerning the rest of Markarth he sent Cirion to do, any mention of Lorelei he’d gone out of his way to avoid.

 

The memory of their quarrel was still too raw, too awkward to think on. He’d hadn’t even sought out news that she’d returned to the city at all. Now he had official orders to not only seek her out but to question her about the night he wanted most to forget.  

 _‘Perhaps she is not even in the city, perhaps she did not even mak...’_ He jerked back from that thought immediately.

~~~~~~~~

The air outside of the keep’s door smacked Ondolemar with its midnight chill, the feel of it uncomfortable in the lack of the moons’ light. He ignored it and hurried down the steps, knowing there to be a quicker route to Lorelei’s home and avoiding it at all costs. The streets he found mostly empty, the stray cat or skeever racing amid the shadows gave him no pause as he moved along the narrow pathways. As he passed the city’s forge, quiet and dark due to the late hour, Ondolemar took the stairs to his left, meaning to pass beneath the temple of Dibella rather than go all the way around as he normally would have.

 

He’d just mounted the stairs when the sound of hushed voices brought his footsteps swiftly to a halt.

 

Up further he could see a slight spill of light, punctuated by twin shadows standing in the stone passageway. In the stillness Ondolemar didn’t have to strain to hear them, though not all of the words were clear and he would have pushed right past the both of them had he not recognized one of those voices near instantly.

 

Lorelei, speaking to another who bore a gruff and decidedly male voice.

 

The tone was friendly but secretive, words of parting exchanged in flavors of tenderness. Ondolemar could taste blood on his tongue and realized too late he’d bitten the inside of his cheek. He was motionless, and remained that way until one of the shadows disappeared.

 

That movement seemed to remind him that he should as well, taking those last few steps two at a time and cresting the top of the stairs in time to see Ogmund’s head lowering out of sight on the otherside.

 

In between stood Lorelei, her face lost somewhere beneath the spill of a dark hood. She hadn’t seen Ondolemar yet, her back to him as she turned to lock the door in front of which she stood.

 

“A tad late to be out is it not?” His voice sounded cruel and thin even to his own ears, but it got her attention quicker than anything else could have. So startled was she that the key fell from her hands, clattering to the stones and vanishing in the dark.

 

“Must you always sneak up on me like that?” Her words sounded angry or perhaps annoyed but Ondolemar noted in distracted curiosity that she made no attempt to retrieve her key. What was more she moved towards him, not with relief but with greater apprehension as far as he could tell in the dark.

 

“You haven’t answered my question.”

 

Now but feet away she sighed, arms coming up to fold across her cloak covered chest.

“I didn’t think it deserving of an answer. I’m permitted to go where I please regardless of the hour.”

 

“Didn’t think it deserving….”

 

Again she sighed,  her exasperated breath a visible puff of steam in the chill air. “Ondolemar, what do you even want?” Though she had come towards him initially she seemed unwilling to take any step further, a fact that bothered him almost as much as her dismissive tone. "What are you doing here anyway and without your cronies no less?"

 

"If you must know I was looking for you. So that I might apologize for my behavior at the embassy the other day.” He was speaking without actually thinking, now that discourse had started the tightness in his chest had flared to life and he would have said nearly anything to make it stop. To make her stop staring at him like that and to stop staying always just out of reach. “ Although seeing more of the company you keep I am beginning to wonder if my concerns were as unwarranted as you made them out to be."

 

"That’s a sorry sort of apology even by your standards. What is it to you who I spend my time with?" It was only than that she began to search for her dropped key, turning her back on him and walking back to where she’d stood before.

"Ogmund is a suspected heretic Lorelei, I know you're bullheaded but even so, surely you can see the danger you place yourself in just by associating with him." He conjured a magelight without her even asking, the tiny ball weaving lazily between them.

 

"Come off of it Ondolemar, that’s not what bothers you now is it? Are you going to say Malborn was also a so called heretic?" The glint of the key caught her eye and she snatched it up before turning to see that he’d walked behind her and now stood between her and the door she’d been trying to lock.

 

"Why do I get the sense you are not taking this a seriously as you should be? And I’ve just received word that Malborn was a traitor and a spy who also helped a thief into the embassy, so in a word, yes, I would say that he was not the sort you should associate with." He should have felt relief that she’d not been disposed of by the traitorous bosmer, that she’d made it to Markarth alright without him. Instead they were arguing just as they had on that night and once more she wasn’t listening to him.

 

"And how seriously should I be taking it hmm? I know for a fact that Ogmund is a good and honorable man, yet here you are trying to convince me otherwise, aedra only know why." She stared him down, trying to make him move out of her way. To see her like that, the magelight making her disregard for him and her annoyance at him all the more visible…

 

She tried to push past him, suddenly not the least concerned about touching him as she sought to lock the door behind him. But the moment she put her hand on him, Ondolemar snapped.

 

"I do not wish to see you suffer just because you are too stubborn to realize your mistakes." He watched her blink up at him, surprise turning to anger as she realized what had just taken place. His hands were upon her arms, his body trapping her against the wall he’d pulled her against.

 

Their voices were low enough to not draw the guard but his was raw enough to make her flinch. That alone was enough to make him lessen his grip on her arms although he did not let them go, did not let her move past him. He was trembling ever so slightly, their gazes locked in a standstill. Finally he let her go, took a step back and even turned to face away from her. But before she could move herself, his demeanor changed utterly. "You said he was a good man... do you think that I too am a good person?"

 

The magelight he’d conjured dimmed and sputtered, punctuating the pregnant silence.

 

“What kind of question is that? I barely know anything about you, beyond how little you think of me and my people.”She sounded incredulous, a trailing scrape of anger still biting into her words. To her credit, the last few moments were not of the noble sort on his part, perhaps even justifying the initial hesitation and such doubt laden words... When he turned to look at her, to try and read her expression, what he saw only wounded him further.

 

“That is untrue! You cannot even fathom how highly I regard you. And yet whenever we speak you act as if you are oblivious to that fact and everything else!”

 

“What are you talking about? Whenever we talk it’s always about the wars, politics, the company I keep or your violent obsession with destroying every shred of Talos left in Markarth!”

 

“It is not an obsession it is a duty! You of all people should understand that I cannot simply drop everything just so I can spend time with you!” The passageway echoed with the rumbling of struck brass, Ondolemar’s fist planted squarely in the door to the left of Lorelei’s face. He’d hit it with enough force to make its hinges creak, a thin stream of incense imbued air squirming through the crack between door and frame.

 

It was not like him to lose control so swiftly, his temper… his emotions were supposed to be his and thus under his complete control. But this woman, this devil of a woman… kept pushing and pulling, toying with him and his control until he thought himself mad. And here she was again, toying with him and he just a puppet beneath her fingers.

 

The moment caught in his throat. a Little ball of thorns he couldn’t swallow. His hand ached, a bone or two likely broken. His cheek hurt, the taste of his own blood sickly sweet and coppery behind his clenched teeth.

 

It was painfully quiet. The only sound was their breathing, his ragged and erratic, her’s slow and deep.

It was painfully still. His body wanted to move… screamed with the urge to do something, to say something. But like a fly struggling upon a spider’s silk web, Ondolemar could do neither.

 

Lorelei’s touch was circumspect, a hesitant thing laid against the side of his curled fist. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, focused only on guiding his hand gently away from the door.

 

He wanted to fight that tender touch, to refuse to budge beneath her silent urging. He wanted to clasp her hand in his and swear a thousand apologies. He wanted her to scream at him, to offer violence even. He wanted her to weep, to sob into his chest and apologize for making him so angry, for saying things so cruel. He wanted to recapture some sense of happiness, to prove his passion, to explain why her words had set him off so easily.

He wanted to kiss her, and he did.

 

Her mouth was stiff beneath his own, unyielding lips drawn in surprise and her hands flying to his chest to keep their bodies separated. He thought she might have well have plunged them betwixt his ribs, surely it would have hurt less than that simple gesture had.  

 

“Why Lorelei?” his anger back and now clawing the insides of his throat. “Why do you act as if I am nothing to you?! Am I only good enough for your company when you need something from me?” He’d wanted to scream it, but all he managed was a strangled whisper. He hated himself for that sound, for its inherent  weakness.

 

Again his hand was against that door, not thrown in anger but rather to support his weight as exhaustion started eating at his nerves. Again the hinges creaked, again Lorelei went to lower his hand. but this time he would not budge, his body going rigid beneath her touch as he refused to move.

 

“Ondolemar please…” Her voice was strangled, the change so abrupt he couldn’t help but stare at her with suspicion.

 

“Please what Lorelei?” He was snarling and he didn’t even care, their faces so impossibly close he could almost read the emotions written in her wide eyes. “What do you want from me? You won’t listen to a word I say even though I wish only for your safety, won’t even…” he could feel his jaw clench until his teeth were threatening to crack.  She tried to move from beneath his arm but he wouldn’t allow her, daring her to finish what she had started to say.

 

She did the only thing that could have calmed him, the only thing she could think of to break through the anger he wore like armor.

 

~~~~~

Lorelei was the first to break this second kiss,  greedily sucking down air as she let her head fall gently back against the wall behind her. Her hair was tousled, Ondolemar’s fingers still nestled in the tresses at the base of her skull. His own lungs were heaving, trying to drown themselves in frigid air. But he didn’t give them much time to do so, unwilling to let the moment go. Fearful of what might happen if he did.

 

It started at her lips, a somewhat chaste kiss lengthening into something that was anything but.

From there his lips trailed to her jawline, tasting skin, feeling her heart pound behind her breast as he pressed their bodies closer. His teeth grazed the lobe of her ear and she shivered between him and the wall. He took it as an invitation and let his breath spill lower, raising all the little hairs on the back of her neck.

 

From the corner of his eye Ondolemar caught the bob of torchlight and quickly extracted himself from Lorelei just as the patrol came into view. She had scarce a moment to right herself and her cloak before the guard spotted them, somewhat startled to see anyone out this late.

 

“Trouble?”

 

“No, just out for a stroll. The Justiciar here was kind enough to escort me.”  Lorelei stepped forward, putting herself between the guard and Ondolemar. Perhaps that was for the best as the look that passed between the two males was not a friendly one.

 

“Well it’s late.”  Ondolemar never did understand why Nords felt the need to state the obvious so often. “Best to be moving along then. Not a safe pastime that, walking around so late at night.”

 

Lorelei shot Ondolemar a look over her shoulder, likely to admonish him for snorting at the guard’s last remark.

 

“Thank you for the concern but I assure you I am quite safe.”

 

The guard didn’t seem to quite buy that, hovering at the edge of the passageway as if he meant to question them both further. Lorelei didn’t afford him the chance, reaching for Ondolemar’s closest hand before briskly walking away.

 

They got about halfway to her door before Ondolemar took his hand back. When this earned him a backwards glance he winced, the hand she’d been pulling on was the one he’d injured earlier. Now that his focus wasn’t on anything specific it was throbbing, not that he wanted to explain any of that to her.

 

“I can look at it once I have some light to work with,” she said softly, her face unreadable.

 

Once he realized what she meant Ondolemar cursed under his breath. Aloud he said, “I didn’t know you were a practitioner of the healing arts.”

 

“I know a bit,” she replied as they began walking once more. “You’ll probably still need someone from the temple in the morning. But I can take the edge off for tonight at least.”

 

“Shall I take that as an invitation to spend the night with…” he trailed off the moment she stiffened on the steps to her door. “At your home?”

 

She said nothing, her hand hovering upon the lock to the door.

 

“I can go back to my own quarters if I am not wanted,” he snapped, tired of her back and forth attitude.

 

“No… stay…” The words were firm but she was shaking, the key fighting with the lock as she tried to open it.

~~~~~~~~

“There is no way on Nirn I am leaving you alone with…” Argis’ voice could have woken the dead. Even with stone walls and a metal door between the two of them, Ondolemar could make out every note of protest the Nord made. Lorelei’s voice on the other hand he couldn’t hear, not that he minded, what she told her housecarl was not his business. Of course, part of him wanted very much to hear, or even better to see Lorelei ordering the brute out of her home.

 

 _‘About time...’_ He couldn’t stop himself from smirking. He was in her bedroom, seated on the foot of her bed and waiting for her to return so they could finish what had started earlier. Very few things could have made him feel more satisfied in that moment and those seemed to be soon to follow.

 

“I’m sworn to protect you! How can you order me to leave you with someone that I don’t trust?”

 

 _‘Funny, I’ve told her much the same about you...’_ Ondolemar rolled his eyes, turning his attention away from the yelling of the other room and towards this room’s contents instead.

 

Lorelei’s personal chambers were probably spacious by Markarth standards, though it was hard to say due to how cluttered it was. Neat but cluttered in much the same manner as the rest of Lorelei’s home he noted absently. To the right of the bed stood a basin and a pitcher filled with clean water, beside it was a short chest of drawers the top of which was covered in an assortment of necklaces and rings, farther away a full wardrobe next to which stood an empty armor stand. There were weapon racks upon most of the walls, between which hung banners of a rich red. He’d expected to see Markarth’s banner or perhaps some other Skyrim related symbol but the banners bore the likeness of a dragon done in gold. It wasn’t the emblem of the empire but it was similar and surprised him somewhat to see.

 

The pain in his hand brought his speculation to a swift end. As gingerly as he had removed his glove, the tug of fabric upon red and swollen joints was still very unpleasant and further examination reaffirmed an earlier suspicion, at least two of his knuckles were broken. Ondolemar scowled at his own hand, most of the ire directed at himself for losing control of his emotions so heatedly.  He should have simply healed them himself, as it was doubtful Lorelei’s skill with spells was even half of his own. But that might dissuade Lorelei from any of the tender affections she’d hinted at earlier.

 

Without giving it much thought he emptied the pitcher from Lorelei’s bedside into the basin also placed there. The gelid liquid was just cold enough to begin slowly numbing his damaged digits,  but submerging his hand like that meant he couldn’t lounge on Lorelei’s bed any longer. A blessing perhaps, as now he had ample excuse to peruse the objects heaped upon the chest of drawers that sat next to it. At first it was hard to distinguish one chain from another or a single ring from the jumble of them. But he was looking for one in particular, a thin silver one whose absence from Lorelei’s neck he’d noted earlier.

 

After a moment or two he spied its edge peeking from beneath a hefty looking gold ring bearing the same symbol as the banners. He reached for it instinctively, frowning unconsciously when it refused to untangle itself for the rest of her jewelry. Ondolemar gave it another tug, mindful not to yank too hard lest he damage it, and was rewarded by the pile shifting and the necklace coming free in his hand. At its end he saw what had caught on the other chains, a very old looking pendant in the shape of a double sided axe.

~~~~~~~

Ondolemar stared at the pendant with acute numbness. It was a symbol he recognized immediately though if it had been possible to will it into any other shape he would have. Confirmation of every unformed fear he hadn’t the courage to name… now punched with such a force that it should have resounded with a sickening crack. But the only sound was the bedroom door opening.

 

Hastily, Ondolemar stuffed the amulet into the front of his robes. As if removing it from sight would remove it from existence.  

 

“Sorry… Argis is…” She shrugged away the rest of the sentence, hovering in the doorway awkwardly despite the room belonging to her. The hesitance was back, in her every move as she shut the door behind her and came to stand on the same side of the bed as he.

 

“It’s fine.” The mechanical sounding response that did oh so little to peel back the crush of apprehension.

 

“Here, let me see how bad it is.” There wasn’t much room left to stand on that side of the bed,  the heaps of her things forcing Lorelei so close to him that he need only lean in to catch the scent of her hair. Her fingers were featherlight, turning his injured hand this and that way in the candlelight assessing the damage of his still wet knuckles. She said nothing more, her bottom lip worried over and over between her teeth. There should have been that telltale sun hued glow of  a healing spell peeking from where their skin touched. There was none to be seen, just a sluggishly growing ache as previously numbed nerves awoke once more.

 

“I believe you mentioned some form of relief.” At her suspicious eyes, he made some erratic gesture towards the fingers she still had clasped between her thumbs. “ And must you always look at me like that?”

 

“Only when I feel your alluding to something.” She dropped her gaze back to what she was doing, her mouth now set in a hard line.

 

“Have I ever given _you some reason_ to not trust me?” He couldn’t stop the inflection, the bitter bite as his mind scrambled back to the thing now hidden in his pocket even as he forcefully shoved those thoughts away.

 

“...no, but often I find myself wondering what it is you are after.”

 

His fingers might have felt better but everything else stung quite assuredly. Implication that surely should have struck the chords of ire and frustration simply fell heavy on his shoulders. He was tired, the well of anger now run dry from so many instances in one night. He was clutching for any other emotion, any other sensation so that he might wear it as a shield.

 

He started with the pauldrons on her shoulders, ever mindful of the wicked spines adorning each one as he set them aside.

 

“Ondolemar… I…”

He kissed her easily, swallowing any protest along with the rest of the words she’d meant to say. Words had only ever caused doubt or anger between them. If he couldn’t tell her…. there were other, clearer ways to get that message across.

 

~~~~

Leather straps gave way beneath deft fingers, the interlocking pieces of her armor nowhere near as difficult to undo as the woman beneath them was. But those where layers he could worry on later, now was the hour of the physical, where the senses hushed all sensibility and left it mute.

 

His mouth found hers again and lingered, allowing his hands to move as they would without sight to dictate the steps of this dance. It should have been paradise, a strange euphoria to crawl along his every nerve. But his mind would stray, the weight in his pocket growing heavier by the second. The match had been struck and dropped into the chaff of his mind, her passive stillness doing little to smother those first coils of smoke.  At least, that was until he felt the first tug on the belt at his waist.

 

To a heap on the floor fell the robes of his station, so quickly forgotten with the taste of Lorelei’s pulse on his tongue. He’d seen her without her armor before but it was something else entirely to remove it with his own hand. He kissed down her  left shoulder as dragon scale and thin cotton fell away and it was only then that he noticed them. Scars maring otherwise perfect skin, some no more than the ghost of a line while others looked far more recent, far more threatening.

 

“Do they bother you?” Her head was canted to the side, a single blue eye studying his face through pale lashes.

 

“No.” He slid his thumb over the nearest one. A still pink dimple in her flesh right above her elbow. “Who?”

 

“Necromancer down by Falkreath. Didn’t have time to get his name.” Her hands reached for the ties on his pants, loosening  them enough to pull his undershirt free. He pulled it up and tossed it aside.

 

“Dead then?” His fingers were in her hair again, tongue and teeth at her throat deceptively soft.

 

“And left for the wolves.” She might have nodded had she been able to. When he finally let her go and she pulled back enough to see him fully he could see the question forming.

 

“I wasn’t always a Justiciar. I was a soldier first.”

 

She gave no verbal response but ran the palm of her hand along a once nasty scar that had faded greatly since the great war.

“Imperial lancer,” he supplied with a shiver as her hand traced lower along his ribs and down against his abdomen. “Knocked me from my horse but missed my lungs. I was lucky.”

“And the lancer?” Her hands had stopped and he took them into his own, raising them to his lips and kissing along her knuckles.

“Not so fortunate.” He closed the distance in a heartbeat, pushing until the side of the bed hit the back of her knees and she sat down hard. Urging without words he lead her further up the bed, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her pants and pulling until she had shimmied out of them. The sight of her amid the furs and lit by the hearth’s dying coals was succulent and sweet. Almost as much as the steadily growing need to feel her succumb, to submit.

 

It was in a word, wondrous to explore her body through touch and taste. To memorize each motion that elicited needy noises from her throat when his tongue flicked across stiff nipples and softer, sweeter parts. At first he merely teased her, her wrists trapped above her head while his free hand caressed over breast, along her waist and down her silken smooth thighs. All the better when those same fingers traced back upwards and tentatively stroked her most intimate places and came away slick with her want. And the sound of her pleading, his name on her tongue as she pressed it against the back of her teeth and writhed into his touch trying to press it deeper within and growling in frustration when he denied her? There could be no sweeter music.

 

It wasn’t until he could sense her tipping over the edge that he granted her wish. Lifting her fully off the bed in a rush that had her yelping in surprise, he smirked against the skin of her cheek as her well toned thighs instinctively wrapped around him and head of his member pushed just inside her.  A single whispered ‘please’ was all it took and the tight leash he had kept his desire on slipped, pulling them both down into a haze of primal motions and rampant lust. Even slick from earlier she was tight around him and the inevitable moment of release was something he had to fight for with each rock of her hips against his.

 

Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once, scratching up his back, pulling at the short strands of his hair, cradling the base of his head as she stole his breath with a kiss. His own were preoccupied with holding her close as if trying to crush her to his chest and perhaps into himself. No longer content to be separate. And when he felt her fall from that high which can only be felt and never seen, it was only then that he allowed himself to let go.

  


It was sometime later, when the pleasant ache of his body had subsided that Ondolemar’s restless mind returned to it’s wanderings. He should have been satisfied. Pressed to his side, Lorelei lay in distant slumber so unaffected from the whirl of his thoughts. It was terribly easy to extract himself from her embrace. He might have made it out of the room completely had he not disturbed a pile of her trinkets while trying to find his once discard clothing.

 

“Is everything alright?” Such a light whisper, even as she came fully awake in an instant and already had a dagger in hand.

 

“Just finding my clothes.” What else was he to say?

 

“You’re leaving already?”

 

“If my guard notice me missing…” He let the lie trail off, let her assume that which she wanted to hear.

 

“Won’t say I’m not disappointed.”

He could almost make out the trace of a halfhearted laugh that had never made it past her lips.

“But I suppose that’s duty for you.”

 

“Yes.” He said firmly, touching the pocket where his grief and her guilt sat concealed.

 

“Some other time then,” and she sheathed the blade instinct had brought to her hand.

 

“Some other time,” he echoed with a hand on the door and a heart made of lead.

  
  



End file.
